LOHAC- The Principality of Ghostland
by AcronymsAnonymous
Summary: Dave and John are really just teenagers who want to have fun and be happy and all that jazz. And so they do. And maybe they start a band and maybe song lyrics are the best way to express yourself but hey, nobody knows, do they? It's just life. Slice of Life AU Senior Year at a tiny tiny school in Montana.


"They cancelled my flight." Dave says as soon as he takes his seat.

"What do you mean, they cancelled your flight? Can they even do that?"

"Yes, John. Have you even heard of commercial airlines before? You pay them to take you places and then they try their best to screw with you and fuck shit up."

"Alright, alright." John says. "I just mean, wow, that really sucks! Can you rebook it or whatever?"

"John. Do know of any other airports anywhere resembling something along the lines of nearby. Do you know how many flights to Texas there are from our own local airport every day?" Dave says.

"I really don't." John replies.

"The answer is definitely somewhere below point five, because there isn't a flight to Texas every single day, probably not even every other day–" Dave says.

"Alright, I get the point." John says. He pauses for a moment. "Man that really sucks though!"

"I'm very much aware." Dave says.

"Why are they even getting married in Texas, anyway? Why not New York or Rhode Island or California?" John asks. It was something that has been bothering him for a while though whenever he'd wanted to bring it up something always got in the way. The wedding would be of Dirk Strider and Jake English, Dave's brother and John's cousin. Jake had lived a simultaneously easy and rigorous life on an Island somewhere in the Pacific, fighting and taming beasts of the forest for his general amusement and being home-schooled by his archeologist grandmother until she passed away. John was young when it all happened but he remembers his dad disappearing for a few weeks and returning, devastated Jake English in tow, to their family home in Washington State. Jake had become something of a sibling to John over the course of the next few years. In that span of time, John's dad received a job transfer over to Montana where he was to oversee some kind of baking factory and they set up new roots there. Two years later, John's freshman and Jake's senior year, the Strider boys transferred into their small school. Dave, the younger one, had been in John's year, and Dirk had been in Jake's year.

John and Jake both had seen many different movies about High School together, (their mutual love of almost all movies, especially bad ones, was something they'd bonded over) and of those several were about new kids. In most cases, the new kid was tormented and humiliated until s/he found a place within one of the many cliques. Immediately upon seeing Dirk and his brother walk into the schoolyard for the first time, however, Jake knew this case would be entirely dissimilar to those of hollywood. For one thing, the Striders were not young starlets, and for another, their school was nothing like a hollywood school.

They'd moved from a southern state, and it had left them with tans that looked like they'd been scorched into their skin, freckles across their noses and cheeks and like the raindrops their faces never got the chance to catch, and hair the color had been melted away from. That's how John saw them. Jake, never having had any resolute sexual preference, looked at the elder boy and the first thought that came to mind was something along the lines of '_yummy_'. His good friend Roxy had planted that idea earlier when she'd texted him, '_those Strider boys sure are yummy_', because she and her sister Rose had been the first ones to spot them. And then as soon as he saw them that mother fucker _bloomed _ like a sunflower, because _hot damn_. And immediately thereafter everything was a poorly made breakfast analogy: Skin like wonder-bread put through the toaster on the second to lowest setting– not burnt but not soft because nothing about that body looked _soft_. Hair like softly simmering butter spread out over said bread in random directions because not even the _hair_ looked soft. Freckles like spots of warm chocolate because damn if Jake didn't want to just lick them off his face. That was probably the strongest bout of physical attraction Jake ever experienced and had ended with Jake grabbing his and John's joint book-bag and carrying it in front of himself because _boner_. Because being a teenager is just that great. Of course, there were some romantic overtures involved over the course of a few years that served as stepping stones between the two most important points in time; when they met and when they got engaged. Examining those stepping stones probably wouldn't even take that long because it's not like there were a lot of them. Mostly they just had a lot of sex and sometimes said 'I love you' and once said 'will you marry me', there wasn't a whole lot else.

When these two boys arrived from Texas, the school was changed forever. This might sound very cliché and in a way it is, but changing a school like Skyward-Bound Learning Institute never takes much. It's a small school, with less than twenty students per grade and four grades. John sometimes wonders why they even bothered to separate it from the elementary and middle schools. It's set in cement between two rocky mountainous hills jutting out from the landscape: four classrooms, each with a single bathroom and water fountain on the inside and six teacher that rotate through them, Tahitian style. They found it easier that way, because with barely four classes worth of students and yet still four grades of each subject to teach, the teachers wouldn't know how to decorate the classrooms and also that way they only had to pay for four buildings. Which is the real reason, no matter how much bullshit they spout about other stuff. There is an attendance office tucked off to the side, and it's small. Apparently, they needed to hire an art teacher but only one person was necessary to take care of all the office-staff duties, so their secretary was also the principal, disciplinarian and counselor. A handful of students are paid alternatingly to take care of janitorial duties.

So when the striders arrived it rocked the tiny school, and it rocked it hard. Not that John and Jake didn't have the same effect, but they weren't there to observe it from the outsider's perspective. In Dirk's case, not only was he being added to a small school and a small class of people but the small classroom which they had all been in for four years and had decorated and which had pieces of them sewn in to the walls and pieces of the walls sewn into students– he was an outsider. But again, from moment one Jake knew that it was not going to be a nineties movie kind of welcome, but somewhat of a genuine one– because the students at the Skyward-Bound Learning Institute are _different_.

Different meaning that, because there aren't enough kids to make a social hierarchy everybody gets called out for who they actually are, and because they drive each other fucking insane and need new people who are unknowledgeable and naive enough for them to pull tricks on and also new enough that they won't immediately hate them at the very least. Also for dating stuff. Because if you sleep with someone, there is a one hundred percent probability you'll have to see them every single day and one more person somehow gives you a little bit more hope of not having to or possibly just of having more sex.

What can be said about the students making each other go crazy can also be said about students and _teachers_ because four years is a long time with no diversity. And because some of the teachers have a reputation for being a bit insane. It was actually the art teacher, Mr. Noir, also known as Mr. Fuck-you-my-name-is-Jack-stop-being-a-little-shit- and-respect-your-elders Noir and Becky (respect levels at this school trend towards astonishingly low on good days and if it rises above that's how you know something's wrong) was the one to set up Jake and Dirk. So in a way Dave feels like he has him to thank for how shitty he's feeling now, knowing he won't be able to go to his brother's wedding because of a cancelled flight.

"Because Texas is where we grew up and they have great barbecue and it's nice and hot and Dirk need new cowboy boots and because it's a _hell of a lot warmer there_ and because it's the best place to celebrate independence day, the shit's been it's own country–" Dave says.

"I'm sure Texas is a genuinely cool place but isn't it still kind of. Very conservative? And anti-gay?" John says.

"Montana's pretty conservative too." Dave says.

"I know, that's not what I'm trying to say, I just mean, is that really the best place to have a flamboyant, large homosexual wedding? Not a legal wedding but a spiritual wedding then? What if something happens to them?" John asks.

"Bro has thought this through." Dave says. "He will stow a samurai sword in his pants leg and the handle will stick out a little bit, everyone will just think it's a boner–"

"What." John says.

"–But then when the first hater raises their hand and says _I object!_ or like some monkey Jake was romantically engaged with on his island–"

"Hey!" John says.

"–He will grab the bulge and rip the sword through his pants and stab them to death in an epic display of love but also to get laid later, not that he should have a problem with that, because there will be a honeymoon, the location of which apparently is _still _undisclosed!" Dave says.

"I'm not sure I understood what you're trying to tell me here Dave." John says.

"He's saying Dirk doesn't give a shit." Terezi says, because no conversations are private here.

"Dumb-ass." Karkat grumbles from two seats over. As if it's _Just That Obvious._ Most of their classmates have weird names like that. The only explanation John's ever gotten has been that their parents were all in the same occult in the seventies and they ran away to the middle of Montana aka nowhere to escape their X rated pasts. He heard this from Vriska, but no one's refuted the claim which means it's probably fact. He and Dave, as the two outsiders, like to speculate about this frequently. Rose and Jade, though they escaped the strange names their friends received, were born and raised here so they claim to feel compelled not to tell anyone, though Jade disclosed to John at one point that she really had no clue.

"I heard that, douche-wad." John says to Karkat. Terezi cackles.

For a small town, their classroom desk arrangement has always struck John as a kind of progressive; instead of alphabetical rows they're placed in a horseshoe shape and they sit wherever the fuck they want. It's spectacular.

This is their senior year, and even as most of them are reluctant to admit it, they'll miss this place. Though Dave came here initially as an outsider, he still has a handprint on the wall. Everybody, in their freshman years, put a handprint on the wall in paint, wherever the fuck they wanted to. Dave's is in the very front, above the whiteboard in vibrant red. Wherever you're sitting, you can always see it, at least out of the corner of your eye, and that's all it takes to remember that he's a part of this family. At the end of this year, they'll paint over the walls together and the freshman class will be the ones to put their handprints on the walls of this room, an they won't realize they're writing over history.

Of course, there's a lot more on the walls than just a few handprints. Three years and counting of sharing this one room has left some more marks on the wall. The biggest one is the actual real dent left by Equius's throwing a desk at one point. The flimsy wood covering the concrete bent. It actually bent. Equius would be on the wrestling team if they had a wrestling team. He would _be_ the wrestling team, and then some.

The history teacher, Ms. Cal, walks in. She has high and sharp cheekbones, green eyes, small sea-shell ears, and hair dyed bright green for unknown reasons and slicked back, as usual. She lets her six inch deep textbook clunk as she drops it on the desk with a smile. Everyone tries to stay upright in their seats out of respect, except Dave. Dave is already in a shitty mood, he doesn't need to exert any _effort_ and make it worse. But then she gives him a look, not even a _mean _look, it's just a look so kind and earnest he gives in to his shame and sits up straight. This teacher is the only one anyone will give effort towards respecting.

Next is Math Class, taught by Mr. Cal, a.k.a. Angry Man, a.k.a. He-who-gives-Karkat-a-run-for-his-money-when-it-co mes-to-flipping-people-off (though people rarely to never say that last one). He's Ms. Cal's twin brother, with the same exact inexplicably colored hair and the Sherlockian Benedict-Cumberbatch cheekbones. His eyes are often a bloodshot kind of red color from, most likely, a night of drinking. There are a lot of reasons he shouldn't be a High School teacher, or any kind of a teacher for that matter, and people could probably legitimately report him for a lot of shit he does, but nobody really wants to.

Then there's lunch. Lunch lasts one hour and while sometimes the students are let out of their confining little habitat, this is not one of those days.

"Dave." John says. "Dave. Have you ever thought of this place like a fish tank, and they're teaching us to do tricks and shit but they won't let us out?"

"Do people teach fish tricks then?" Jade asks.

"No." Dave says.

"Yes." John insists. "Look it up, it's for real."

"That's not a great metaphor because if you took a fish out of it's tank, in most scenarios it would result in it's death." Jade says.

"And how is that not a great metaphor?" Dave asks solemnly. John rotates in his seat and puts his feet up on Dave's lap, giving him his best shit-eating grin. Dave snickers.

John is as sad as Dave is about the wedding thing even though he wasn't going in the first place. Somehow, the flight was sold out, and he couldn't miss a week of school at the beginning of the year. The third week of October they have a three day weekend, they have _always_ had a three day weekend on that day, and so Jake and Dirk knew to schedule their trip then. However, Jake has informed John that he and Dirk will be finishing college in Washington and maybe settling down there, so they plan to get a legal marriage happening at some point and they'll let him know so he can come out to celebrate with them.

John looks over at Dave, takes out his phone, and snaps an Instagram photo. For all of it's faults, this school does have wifi, which is kind of surprising but he suspects Rose's family is paying for it for them. The thing is, Dave just looks so picturesque hipster right now, tilting back on the last two legs of his chair, feet up on the desk, skinny jeans, gangly limbs, blonde hair swept into his face. He's wearing earbuds and a beanie too, which really does it. His glasses still cover his eyes, and every day it surprises John that he still doesn't know what color they are. Once upon a time, he bugged Dave about it. That was sophomore year. He said, "What color are your eyes?" and Dave replied, "Brown." but John could tell he was lying. "Really, though, what color are they?" he asked again. He pushed. He, at one point, tried to grab the glasses off Dave's face, but Dave stopped him. Dave yelled at him a bit and then John stopped being so riled up and started being more guilty. Dave said to him, "I'm just self conscious about my eye color, alright? I'm insecure about my eyes, are you happy?" John hadn't said much more after that, just, "I'm sure whatever color they are, nobody's going to care beyond a few minutes of speculation. It can't be that strange." Dave hadn't said anything after that.

"What are you listening to?" John asks. Dave doesn't hear him, so he leans forward, plucks out an earbud, and says louder: "What are you listening to?"

"Two Weeks by Grizzly Bear." Dave says. John smiles.

"God, Dave, you're such a hipster." John laughs. He takes a bite of P.B.&J. while Dave sips from his apple juice box.

One thing that needs to be said is that Dave doesn't drink his apple juice in a normal way. He purses his lips around the straw and the straw has to be at a jaunty angle too, like a fifty degree angle from his mouth, or more simply one that leaves the juice box a couple inches to the side of his mouth instead of directly in front of it. Also, it's a juice box. Dave tries so hard to be ironic John can practically feel it, but he understands that Dave has a genuine and truly un-ironic love for apple juice. Whenever John goes over to his house, he opens the fridge and behind the curtain of shitty swords there are at least four apple juice jugs at any given time. Just like the fact that there's very little irony actually going on in his life, he just dismisses a lot as irony. At the beginning, when Dave first moved to Montana and joined their class, John and everyone else thought he was cool. He drew shitty ironic comics but because some people ready them and because Dave was new, everyone thought they weren't _shitty_, they were _the shit_. Eventually the act wore down. Dave kept pretending even though pretty quickly everybody knew he was just a regular dork.

"Hey Karkat, can I have some of that?" John asks. Karkat looks up from his salad.

"What, this bullshit?" Karkat asks.

"Yep. May I try it. Please." John asks.

"Do you have your own fucking fork? I'm not swapping mouth-sweat with you over a bowl of fucking rabbit food." Karkat says. He's already too tired to say much. Senioritis is catching him, even though their school literally has no classes to choose between. There is a bit of homework sometimes and a lot other times. Karkat has bags under his eyes that suggest him being even more exhausted. Karkat is a bit of a friend of John's and Dave's. Being at this school is kind of like being trapped in infinite kindergarden; life is limited to the sandbox and you're friends with everybody unless you hate them because of something stupid but your world is so small you're not really allowed to even do that too much.

"Dave can I borrow your fork." John asks.

"I don't have a fork." Dave says.

"Fine, can I borrow your _spork_?" John asks. Dave gives him one of those flash smiles which isn't truly meant to look genuine and his face returns to placid after he's done saying, "Why yes you may." and handing John the spork.

The spork is an eco one that supposedly decomposes. John has to unwrap it because Dave doesn't wash things, doesn't reuse things if he can help it. Actually, that's a lie, he reuses everything that he can except anything to do with plates or food utensils. This does not extend to water bottles or juice bottles, because he will refill and reuse bottles. He will rip the little paper circle from around the waist and he'll replace it with one he makes out of a strip of printer paper, ripped just neatly enough to mostly fit, and he'll decorate it with images of records, gears, and flames.

"Here Karkat, will this spork do?" John asks.

"Oh for fucks sake, just take some salad already." Karkat says. John stabs Dave's spork in and comes out with a comically large amount of salad, more cradled in the bowl of the spoon part than stabbed on the end of the fork part. He puts more of it in his mouth than he knows is necessary, just because he feels like being silly. He can feel the spork resting on the back of his tongue and sucks salad into his cheeks to chew. He then retrieves the spork with a smile and makes a move to dive back into the salad. Karkat, seeing this, jerks it away from him.

"_Fuck_ no." Karkat says. "The whole entire fucking reason of you getting a separate fork was so that I don't have to get your fucking _weird person_ germs into my fucking system and reusing that fucking _disgusting _spit well to take some of my grub would _totally defeat_ that fucking purpose!"

"You just used the fuck word five times in the same sentence." Dave says, taking out his notebook and writing a five on the page dedicated to impressive Karkat speaking habits. John giggled.

"The fuck word." John repeats. Dave looks at him with a very serious expression painted on his face.

"Did I fucking stutter." Dave says.

"YOU WANT FUCKS?" Karkat shouts. Loudly. "I'LL GIVE YOU FUCKS. YOU FUCKING FUCKERS ARE SO FUCKING STUPID EVEN MS. FUCKING CAL HAS GIVEN UP ON YOUR SORRY FUCKING ASSES."

"Five again." Dave tuts. "I know you're capable of more. I know you can drop the sweet fucks like angry little rage shits, like you're a pigeon just shitting down on a village of picnickers and I have the privilege of putting sciency data shit into a totally official computer thing. Scientists from all around the world will look at it and be like, 'how can a bird take that many shits? How can there be so many birds?' It's just a hailstorm of bird shits out there, dropping them on the heads of people and they're like 'whoa where'd that come from oh right that shitty little bird over there!' That one almost got away from me there, but I still have the reigns. It's Rudolph, I'm santa, all those bird shits are the other little fuckers. Ain't no one gonna mess with Rudolph."

"That made so little sense, I'm almost impressed." Rose says.

"Damn right." Dave says. John gets up and takes his feet from Dave's lap. He walks over to the teacher's desk, grabs the stapler and tape, and makes an announcement as he moves next to the door.

"Nobody touch this spork!" John shouts. He wipes it off on his shirtsleeve and then staples it into the wood and tapes it down.

"Why not?" Terezi asks.

"It's October right now. Will it decompose by the end of the year? We'll never know, if you touch it!" John says.

"What if we touch it just a _little_ bit?" Terezi asks.

"_Equius_ cannot touch it even a little bit." John says. Equius frowns pitifully. "No offense man, it just needs to stay on that wall for a whole year and, well, you remember the desk thing. You don't really _want_ to touch my used spork, do you?"

"It's my spork." Dave says.

"Dave's spork that I used." John says. He goes and sits down.

Science happens next. Science is the shit. Usually. Unless something goes wrong. Which, usually, it tends to. Even then it's fucking _beast_. Once there was an accidental molotov cocktail. That's another mark they've accumulated over the years, the burn mark decorating most of one corner. They tried to paint over it but it didn't quite work out. It will probably always be there. That's a thought that makes John unreasonably giddy.

Science passes uneventfully. Their teacher, 'Sir' Renegade, a.k.a. (they really are fond of the a.k.a.'s here) Fire-And-Aim is always as giddy for explosions as they are, so he seems almost disappointed no one's fucked up by the end of the period. It wasn't even a lab class, but still. He has bright yellow hair and dark eyes. He's not as youthful as the Cal's, but having two young teachers in a trap like this school is a result of luck at best and blackmail or murder at worst.

English comes next, but because this is a small and weird school where the teacher and therefor everyone else still calls it Language Arts. The teacher is known as Mrs. Snowman. That's not even a joke. Honest to god. And Mrs? John and Dave speculate that she might be a widow, because she seems like she's definitely murdered someone before so why couldn't it have been her husband? That's a good reason why it's a bad idea for them to kind of try to fuck with her the way they do, but teenagers tend to be not very good at following rules. They're doing poetry stuff, which Lalonde definitely is into, and each of them has a Prompt Journal given to them by Mrs. Snowman. (She doesn't even get a nickname because her real name just takes the cake.) It's not like a one prompt per page kind of thing; It's just one prompt, and you have to fill up five pages a night using that prompt for homework. Dave has the prompt _If I were __ and he makes the most out of it. Mrs. Snowman asks for someone to read their poem out to the class and Dave volunteers swiftly. His poem reads:

_If I were a bird, I would take great joy in doing things_

_like shitting on Karkat's head_

_And also on other people_

_As a sign of friendly_

_Pigeonly Respect._

_And sometimes I would also_

_Shit on people who deserve it, _

_But I would do it in their food _

_And really try to hurt them_

_In ways that count, _

_Because being a bird is probably_

_about making these choices, _

_And birds pooping on your head means good luck_

_but any shit in your salad ever_

_is always just sad._

"That was enthralling, Dave." Mrs. Snowman says when he finishes reading. Her voice is layered inches deep with sarcasm. "Please, sit down. I wouldn't want your creativity wear out while you read another one. Rose, I know you have something for us. How about you share and relieve us all?"

"Alright, well, I have the prompt _What Is _(blank) so of course I had to take this opportunity to make something infallibly cheesy, so I'm sorry about that." Rose says.

"How cheesy?" asks Dave. "Is it like, slice of american cheese on a turkey sandwich, or like 'we're going french here' cheesy with like lots of names and shit and a full course dedicated to the stinkies?"

"The second one, definitely." Rose says. "I'm going to start now." A pause. "What is love?" Dave swallows a laugh. She glances at him with a smirk and starts again. The full, uninterrupted poem looks like this:

_What is love?_

_Love is an apple tree that grows in the desert,_

_And it bears fruits even though it shouldn't,_

_Even though there isn't anybody there to enjoy them, _

_Mostly they just annoy the camels when they fall on their heads._

_Love is knowing you can't ignore_

_The shadows between branches where the night lives,_

_Where nothing grows and nothing can grow,_

_But where you learn slowly that if you search long enough_

_You could find a star, or the moon._

_Love is burying your dreams because there isn't any soil_

_For the tree to grow in, only sand that slips through roots,_

_Knowing that there's an equal chance_

_You'll only get the dreams back when the roots wither and die_

_And an equal chance the tree will breathe it into the clouds_

_and you can grab them down if you climb._

_Love is knowing you'll take that chance._

_Love is letting sandstorms drown the camels,_

_Even though you know they were alive,_

_Because Love is a tree that lets things happen,_

_and Morals are actions that walk and talk_

_and chop down 'innocent' Apple trees_

_Growing where they don't belong._

Dave actually enjoys the poem, and says as much with two thumbs up. Poems are worth a lot of words, but so are pictures, and the picture of Dave's two thumbs pointing skywards is worth only a few that matter: Fuck Yes.

John shares his poem next, because that's what he's supposed to do. He's got the prompt '_I am going_'. It goes:

_I am going._

_People don't think about things,_

_Like the way each syllable leaves their mouth_

_And the gears crank air through their throats_

_To chase it out as it goes, _

_And then those words,_

_For a few brief moments, _

_Are riding a breeze before they're gone._

_And then they're gone._

_Each passing second is just a stain on time_

_That sometimes people remember,_

_And usually they don't. _

_Because every breath of air that goes_

_And every wisp of words _

_Riding the breeze_

_Is not remarkable enough_

_To make a stain the size of a handprint_

_Or a person_

_That anyone remembers _

_For the rest of their lives._

_Not if the gears work how they're supposed to._

_One cement building for four years of my life, _

_I am riding a wisp of steam out the front door _

_And my shell I left here will be torn from the walls and ceiling until I am gone_

_and there are no more handprints left._

Dave fucking WOOTS at John's. He didn't know John had it in him! John didn't know he had it in himself either. He was just writing something down about leaving. He didn't even say anything about going _somewhere_ like he feels he was supposed to. But even Snowman seems impressed, her black soulless eyes blink a few times while she speaks a single word of admiration, "Good." which is more than anything John had received from her in his high school career. He could almost weep from the praise, which is a lie, he could not, but even still that one word was a pretty nice sentiment as Snowman goes. Rose looks impressed, too. Once upon a time she might have been a little jealous that someone got within competing range of her _mad skillz_ but everyone's mature now. And god, how much they've matured. When someone asks Dave how senior year is, and he know they will, he'll say it's just a very long nostalgia parade.

(An excerpt from Terezi's poem, prompt: _Why am I_:

_Why am I colorblind?_

_Whoever god is, _

_He wanted to remove_

_The burden of Humanity_

_And let me see things_

_In black and white._

(An excerpt from Karkat's poem, prompt: _Who is:_

_Who is that horse my dad owns?_

_The little shit makes horse noises_

_And poops places,_

_Which I guess I do the human version of_

_A lot of the time_

_Because that's what we both_

_Know how to do. _

(Dave personally loved Karkat's, even if he chose to ignore the meaning he is a little boy at heart and still enjoys the use of potty words in poetry and otherwise.)

The next class is Art, led by Mr. Noir, who _really_ wasn't asking for much out of teaching, he just wanted to be called Jack for christ's sake, and isn't that the kind of bullshit students love, or do they really just call teacher by their first names for the sole purpose of pissing them off? The class they don't have today is Japanese, because if they can't give you a handful of easier languages to choose from and the kids can't say they speak all of the romance languages plus German, at least they can say Japanese was their second language.

Art is super great. Dave draws another shitty comic (Shit let's be Santa!) and Terezi finger paints because for a colorblind girl she sure does like colors, which Dave thinks is great in an ironic way. She tapes the canvas (piece of cardboard) to the wall and rips it down the middle, then takes off one half and starts painting. The remaining half looks kind of like Florida. Dave tells her this so she finger paints really shitty flowers onto it. More often than not, her fingers escape the edges of the canvas (piece of cardboard) and when she pulls it off, the shape of Florida is stenciled on to the wall in rainbow. The painting itself is much less remarkable.

Karkat starts drawing something Dave is sure will be atrocious and an insult to all art everywhere so he kindly intervenes and guides Karkat's hand to help him draw the shape of penises. Forcefully. Several times. There's some screaming and kicking involved. Mr. Noir doesn't do so much as twitch in his seat. Just another uneventful day. He makes another red flower painting by dipping his paint brush in red, holding it in his fist, and then smashing it down on the canvas. Once, a freshman told him it looked like he was painting truffula trees.

At the end of art class Mr. Noir stands up at the desk and tapes something to the whiteboard (Instead of using a magnet like he's supposed to! He tapes it up because he and the students are in a vicious war to see who can annoy the other more more). He hits the wall six times with his painting to get the class's attention, like he always does when he's going to make an announcement.

"The dance theme deciding committee of this school has decided on a theme for, wait for it– a dance." he says. He really does have a talent when it comes to maintaining a perfectly apathetic monotone. "The theme is–" he starts a drumroll on the desk, also apathetically, "classic movie stars. The dance will be next Wednesday. Have a good weekend." He leaves.

"John Egbert." Dave says. "Will you be my date to the dance?"

"Heh. Sure." John replies. He and several others get up and move to the white board. He discovers a stack of flyers on the desk identical to the one taped to the whiteboard and brings one back with him when he returns to sit next to Dave. "Looks like it's a Halloween dance then. That's probably why it's on Wednesday. Because Wednesday is when Halloween is."

"I am aware." Dave says. "Shit's beautiful. We're going to have an amazing halloween dance, it's going to super fucking awesome. Do you want to go clothes shopping with me over the weekend? Like, tomorrow maybe? I can't go to the wedding but I might as well get dressed up anyway."

"Sure! But you already have a suit." John says. "Or will you be wearing something else? I'm thinking I'll go for a Frank Sinatra look, which is basically the same as all other male movie stars of the past. It will be pinstripe suit, bowtie, and hat. A fedora, specifically."

"I will be Marilyn Monroe." Dave proclaims. John chokes a little. Karkat laughs. Terezi chuckles. "What, you don't think I can pull it off?"

"You and I can be twins, then." Rose says. "Kanaya will be Jane Russell and I'll be Marilyn."

"I should have thought of that for _us_, John." Dave says.

"He he, no way dude!" John says.

"Please." Dave asks. "We should do it ironically. And in the process totally un-ironically give Rose and Kanaya a run for their money."

"Seriously Dave." John deadpans.

"The competition is ironic. Them losing is not." Dave says.

"I'm pretty sure I wouldn't even look good in a dress!" John says.

"Ha so you're thinking about it that basically means I win." Dave says.

"No." John replies. "My hair isn't even long enough."

"Yes it so totally is and I bet mine is too." Dave says. "I even have a curler come on John _please_ I'm getting down on my knees here, totally just whipping out all the props of begging, making sweet love to the idea because it and I are totally already that intimate."

"No, Daaa_aaaa_ve. I don't want to." John says.

"Fine." Dave says. He doesn't push harder because he knows he'll still win. "What about spending tomorrow with me though? Is that going to happen?"

"Yeah, sure. I guess so. Sounds good." John says.

"Cool. I'll stop by your house at some godforsaken hour in the morning and then give you back late at night." Dave says.

After he drives home, John checks up on how much money he has for shopping, because he knows in his heart Dave's pretty much already won.

Dave _does_ arrive at the Egbert household at a godforsaken hour of the morning. One thing that never ceases to surprise John is that Dave's an early riser. If anything, their positions should probably be switched. John is the very peppy one who goes to sleep early and gets up early– that's how it should be. And Dave is lazy, he sits around doing things like listening to music all day and goes to bed late and gets up late– that's how it should be. But in reality, John spends a _lot _of time watching movies and shows, and more often than not he'll wind up curled up under his comforter, clicking the 'play next episode' button on Netflix against all better judgement. And in reality, Dave has a lot of hobbies. A lot of them. He does photographer things and plays guitar and mixes music. He _makes_ music. John plays piano, he plays music, but he doesn't _create _the same way Dave does. Basically, Dave does a lot, and he likes to get up early get his creative juices flowing and watch the sunrise.

It's seven thirty in the morning when there's a knock on his door.

"John. Get your lazy bitch ass up, we're going _shopping_." Dave says loudly. Then the door opens and John feels himself being dragged out of his bed and across the cold, cold floor.

"Nooo stop!" he shouts. He tries to twist himself around and claw at Dave, but by that time he's already at the door. He slowly blinks his eyes open. "Ugh. Where are my glasses?"

"Here you go." Dave says. "But remember, Jane Russell didn't wear glasses so we should probably use your contacts for that one."

"Hey– Marilyn Monroe didn't wear glasses either, so you're going to have to go without the aviators." John says.

"I have some blue Marilyn Monroe contacts already picked out for myself. I'm going _all the way_." Dave says. Something falls on John's face. He feels at it and sits up. It's a pile of clothing. He's assuming this is Dave's way of telling him to get dressed. "Good boy. Don't bother eating breakfast because we're going to Ampora's right after this." John groans.

He meets Dave just outside the front door, and they Dave drives him in silence. They watch the sunrise together.

"Why do you get up so early?" John asks.

"I don't." Dave says. "I'm just behaving all special for you, princess."

"No Dave, I mean like actually." John says.

"Oh." Dave says, and pauses. "Well. I like the sunrise, for one thing."

"More than the sunset? Or less?" John asks.

"What is this, some kind of celebrity Q and A? No photos please." Dave says.

"No, no, really, Dave." John says. "Sunrise, or sunset?"

"Sunrise." Dave says, and takes a deep breath. He looks over at John briefly, and then back at the road. "Destruction is beautiful. Fire is beautiful. But sometimes, when you can feel like you're watching all of creation in twenty minutes, that's good too. That's how I feel when I'm watching the sunrise, it looks like creation and opportunity and I guess that's just a good thing to start the day to, in my head."

"Do you believe in god?" John asks. He doesn't know the answer, he's curious.

"No no no slow down. That's not how this is going to go." Dave says.

"It's not?" John asks.

"No. It's not." Dave says. "If we're doing a shitty twenty questions thing, we're going to take turns. You ask a question, I ask a question. That's how it's really going to work."

"Alright, sure. Sounds fun." John says. "You ask me a question then."

"Why do you care so much about what my eye color is?" Dave asks.

"What? No, Dave, I. I don't _care_ what color they are–" John says.

"But you kind of do, man. I've told you, it's just that I don't think the world will be able to handle how fucking cool they are, icy _hot_ I'm telling you." Dave says.

"I care that you care. I'm just curious. I'm sure you have really great eyes, no matter what color they might be. I'm sure they're _beautiful_." John says.

"That's pretty homo man." Dave says.

"Maybe it is, but what I'm trying to tell you is that something like eye color is hardly going to make everybody think any less of you." John says. "Or probably change their opinion at all, honestly they'll still think of you as the same _dork_–"

"I'm not a dork, I'm cool as shit–"

"–Nope you're a huge dork and they'll still think so. You'll just be Dave with eyes and not just sunglasses." John says.

"If you say so man." Dave says. "Your turn."

"Why do _you_ care so much about your eye color?" John asks.

"I got teased about it. Back in Dallas." Dave says. "Much bigger school, but I never quite got ignored like I wanted to. Right from the beginning people weren't very nice to me. I told them hey, that's not cool man, but they. Well. Bro fought for me at least."

"That's good." John says. "Man, those guys suck though. I wish I could retro-punch them."

"Retro-punch?" Dave asks?

"Yes." John says. "Not like _retro_ but like, retrospectively. Into the past punch them. Or hammer their face."

"Retro-punch." Dave says to himself, quietly. Then at normal volume: "John, have you ever thought about being in a band?"

"Hell yeah. Hasn't pretty much everybody?" John asks.

"But I mean, like, seriously." Dave says. "We should make a band."

"Haven't we had this idea before?" John says.

"I think so– actually, yes. Do you remember The Bottle Caps?" Dave asks. John laughs.

"How could I not? Man, we sucked."

"We did not suck!" Dave says. "We were fucking boss! We were boss-sauce! The music we played just didn't realize it yes."

"Sure. That didn't even make any sense, but sure." John says.

"Retro-Punch though. That could be a totally great band name." Dave says. "Think about it though– you play piano, I play guitar. This is like the stuff of movies John, and I know how much you love movies. An cliches."

"Do I love cliches?" John asks.

"Yes. You do." Dave says. "Point being, we could totally have a band and we could totally call it Retro-Punch."

"Man, that band name sucks." John says.

"Does it? Nah, I think it totally _rocks_. Almost as much as _we're_ going to rock when we have a band with that name." Dave says.

"I can think of at least six band names better than that one, right now, off the top of my head." John says.

"Alright, go. I'm game. Let's hear it." Dave says.

They're talking, laughing, driving into the sunrise in Dave's shitty old car. It's so cold, but Dave has the heater on and they're all wearing coats and scarves so it's warm. It's fogging up the windows, but they're so cold they can't bear to turn it off. John keeps reaching up with his jacket sleeve pulled over his hand to wipe the thin sheet of steam from the front window. And they keep driving into the beautiful sunrise. Like they're being ferried to the start of the day.

"Okay, one. Um. The Brothers Of Asylum." John says.

"Pretty good. Go on."

"Two, The Foggy Window Collection." John says, looking around the windows of the car and wiping some more. "Three, The Principality Of Ghostland. Uh, uh, uh."

"I commend you for your efforts but I'm here to alert you that you're going to fail your mission." Dave says. "Might want to hand in your two weeks first because it's going to _sting_ when your boss, Victory, kicks you out on your ass because of this spectacular loss."

"No, no, I'm not done yet." John says. "I'll give Victory a run for her money. Four, Stereotypical Teenage Drama Shit–"

"STDs?" Dave asks.

"–Shut up, fuck you, um. Land Of Heat And Clockwork. Five." John says.

"I like that one." Dave says. "Imagine, walking up on stage and being like, 'yo sup guys this is the Land of Heat and Clockwork and we are the residents' and people would kind of be like huh what residents what does that mean and we'd be all chillin' and knowing that it really means band members."

"Really?" John asks, laughing. "You liked that one? I thought The Principality Of Ghostland was pretty cool."

"Of course you did." Dave says. "It's okay, that can be our first album. But that's besides the point. You lost."

"I did not lose!" John says. "You cut me off, and besides, that's not the point. The point is, I proved my point, and you found one you liked better in that list."

"Was that the point?" Dave asks.

"Yes. It was." John says.

"So I guess we're going to make a band then." Dave says.

"If that's what you really want then sure, I'll join you." John says.

"Wait, really?" Dave says. "You're not, like, fucking with me here or anything? This is super duper real genuine agreement? Can I get it in writing?"

"Sure, I guess. We're going to make a band." John says.

"Sweet!" Dave says.

"But you can write the songs." John says. "I don't make music. You do."

"Fine, but you can help with the lyrics." Dave says. "I heard that poetry, we could make some awesome shit between us."

"Well, it can't be the two of us for a band." John says. "We at least need a drummer. I'm sure you could play both guitar and bass and maybe at the same time–"

"Fuck yeah I could." Dave says.

"But we need a drummer."

"We could have synthesized drums." Dave says.

"I'm sure we could." John says. "But we should have a drummer. That's what I think."

"Sure. You're half of this band. Who should we have, as a drummer?" Dave asks.

"Karkat." John says. Dave laughs. "No I'm serious, I'm like sixty percent sure he'd love hitting stuff with sticks for fun and I'm like fifty point seven percent sure he actually does play drums already!"

"Nah, man, it's great." Dave says. He laughs some more. "It's perfect." It's times like this when John loves him most, though he'd never say anything like that out loud. When Dave is unironically laughing his ass off, keeling over and making him fear for their lives because Dave might crash this car with how hard he's laughing. When the irony slips from his figure like the mask that it is. Maybe that's not even the best way to describe it. As cheesy as it sounds, maybe Dave is the sun, and this irony he wears is a clay suit that can't contain him, because he keeps getting hotter and melting it off of him, until there are little and big holes all over through which he shines so brightly. That's also probably not the best way to describe it. But it's not like you can take someone like Dave and bottle them up.

They arrive at Ampora's Diner. It's kind of a quaint joint, in some ways. It's got a coastal theme to it, with a sandy pacific kind of look and a lot of ocean related stuff everywhere. The floor is made of planks of sun-bleached wood placed very purposefully with gaps in between them which are filled with sand and things. Each table and the two to four chairs around it are on top of a woven brown hempy looking floor mat thing, probably to make cleaning easier if someone spills something. The walls are painted a stark variety of blue, and the lighting is all as natural as it can possibly get for somewhere that is not very sunshiny and not very warm ever. They do this by placing specifically 'natural-light' bulbs in all their ceiling lamps. The tables have blue or red checkered picnic-blanket kind of patterned table cloths. Pictures of oceans and seas and coasts and fishy type things decorate every wall.

Dave and John don't come here too often so they don't have any 'usual's or anything. They get a table by one of the windows. There are showy white Italian lace curtains drawn back over it. Looking between them and out the window they have a beautiful view of a small lake at the basin between two large hill/mountains.

John turns to Dave and Dave looks at the waiter. The waiter puts down menus and leaves. Soon he returns with paper napkins which he weighs down with two glasses of water. The water glasses have Mrs. Grossman fish stickers on them.

"Hello, Cronus." Dave says to the waiter. The waiter looks like a greaser who doesn't realize what year it is and doesn't care as long as he can still fuck shit up. He's got a cigarette clamped between his jaws. He was in the same year as Dirk and Jake. His brother Eridan's in their class. "I see you've joined the family business."

"Shut your fuckin' mouth, southern-boy. What do you want to eat, or will you need some time?" Cronus says. He sneers.

"Actually, I think we'll both have the pancake special." Dave says.

"We don't have any pancake 'special's." Cronus says.

"Every pancake is a goddamn special pancake." Dave says. "Two servings of plain pancakes and two hot chocolates. And one apple juice." Cronus leaves with a sigh.

"What if I didn't want pancakes?" John asks.

"Don't be silly, John. Of course you want pancakes." Dave says. "Pancakes are fucking amazing okay. Once upon a time, I got up at _four in the morning_ and made all of these goddamn pancakes. It was beautiful. And ironic, but beautiful too."

"I'm sure I believe you." John says. "Apple juice _and_ hot chocolate?"

"It's that kind of a day, John. I probably should have gotten you an apple juice too, but I don't think you respect it enough for that." Dave says.

"No?" John says.

"No. You don't." Dave says.

"I think I do." John says.

"I think you don't."

"What? Well, how does someone even respect or disrespect apple juice?" John asks.

"How does someone respect or disrespect the _pouch_?" Dave asks. "That's right. You respect the pouch. _Respect it_. So you respect the apple juice too."

Their hot chocolate arrives, steaming hot and really shitty. It's the kind that forms a skin at the top, not even like a really thin skin but one of the thicker ones, because that's what kind of shitty this hot chocolate is. But John still drinks it and enjoys it a lot. That's also what kind of hot chocolate it is. The kind where you don't care because it's fuck-that o'clock in the morning. Dave watches John's throat, watches his adam's apple bob as his own glasses are fogged from the steam.

There are some things they don't talk about, times when the irony runs out before the end of the joke but they both look away and pretend that's not how it happened. Dave's not going to be the little shit who says he doesn't have feelings for John, who denies himself the right to like him, and he's also not going to be the person who thinks John couldn't _possibly_ like him and that even if he did he wouldn't be _worth_ it, because he's been that person before. And it sucked. It took a lot for Bro to boost his self confidence, and even now he wouldn't say it's through the roof. But at least now he knows that he's worth the same as everybody else. And so he doesn't want to have a girly anime episode like his brother did, sitting by the window doing whatever the kawaii version of brooding is, thinking '_golly gee I sure hope John senpai notices me today, doki doki_' when John has A) definitely noticed him before and B) yes, in that way. It's not like he even has a huge crush on John. Not even one that's a little bit massive. It's the kind of crush were it's like, '_cool how about an ironic romantic fancy dinner or maybe like unironic microwave burritos idk what do you want to do how about we watch a shitty movie and maybe hold hands and maybe have sex idk i haven't really thought about it or anything_.' Which is to say he's thought about it, but he's not obsessive. He'd actually be fine with him and John just staying friends.

But there is one idea that keeps popping into his head a lot, and one he sustains a certain degree of ambivalence about. After they graduate, he and John most likely will remain friends. This is especially if he doesn't say anything. But they probably won't be best friends forever, because John's going to college in Washington and he doesn't know _where_ he's going to college or _if_ he's going to college, he might just start photography work right off or something. They won't be _bffsies_, they're going to grow apart until Dave just goes over to John's penthouse in New York for the occasional Thanksgiving Dinner or high-school reunion or things involving Jake. There's a big difference between this and the pity case of '_oh John will probably just forget me forever and I'll be alone_', because in the pity case he would be looking for reasons to feel sorry for himself and in this version he acknowledges that John won't forget him and there's no way John _could_ forget him. And he probably won't be alone, either. The main point is, he'll regret it later if he doesn't say anything, and the clock is ticking down. Senior year, they're going to graduate and go separate ways and this relationship would be just another thing he had the chance to experience but decided to stay on the safe side instead and so completely missed out on. And he thinks maybe John's thinking it too. But how to propose the idea unironically is a whole different question. He asked John to go with him to the dance, and John hardly even blinked before saying yes. He probably thought it was just another ironic thing, or a joke, or bros going as bros. And maybe it was. But it just goes to show what John seems to expect out of Dave, and Dave, while not wanting to completely break that screen, wants to poke a hole in it just large enough for him to slip through for a few moments. Because he knows that, even though John doesn't see his eyes, he sees through the glasses, and that means something though he's not sure what or why.

"This hot chocolate is really bad." John says. He puts down the half empty cup and there a tiny smudge on his nose from where skin must have clung to the rim.

"Hey you big dork, there's something on your nose." Dave says, without overture. John laughs and wipes it off with his sleeve.

"So how are we going to go about making these dresses?" John asks.

"Oh, so I've won then." Dave says.

"Fuck you. That means yes. But besides the point. We're wearing dresses, I assume. What do they even look like?" John asks.

"Well, funny you should ask. Yesterday, I had a premonition of your astonishing though much expected defeat and printed out a picture containing both of our costumes!" Dave says. "What do you know!"

"I'm the one with the black thing, right?" John asks.

"That you are." Dave says. "And I'm the one in the saucy orange number. I have a plan for both of ours."

"Of course you do." John says.

"Yes, of course I do. I made a little ironic chart, right here, like people who are obsessed with things like cosplay make probably. Or like a camp counselor chart, more like." Dave says. It's small and square. It says that they'll go to the fabric supply store and go thrift shopping and some other less crucial things.

"This says fabric store." John says.

"That it does." Dave says.

"Can either of us sew?" John asks.

"Not very well." Dave says. "But how hard can skirts like that be?"

"I guess. But what about the tops?" John asks.

"For my top I have reserved online a full female's bandeau swimsuit in the color orange at our local big-bucks commercial chain clothing outlet. I also have fabric glue. And safety pins." Dave says. "Yours doesn't look so hard, it's just a thing around your neck and then like a V thing so we can do it with cloth mostly and then improvise for sewing stuff and just kind of hope it works."

"You really are trying super hard to win." John says sarcastically. "So hard. You probably learned sewing overnight or something."

"Screw you." Dave says. "Usually, if we needed dresses, what would we do? We'd go to Kanaya. But we can't do that, because she's who we're fighting in this awesome dress-off competition."

"Man, she's going to totally kick our asses." John says.

"We will win for effort and also who-wore-it-better. Because we will wear it _fabulously_." Dave says. "I have also taken inventory of my mother's hair supplies. Mental inventory. Not written down inventory. I can say for certain that we have a curling iron thing and also gels. Lots of gels. That will probably sufficient. I may be wearing earrings."

Dave has pierced ears. He got his ears pierced late sophomore year for his sixteenth birthday. Usually he just wears these small clear/silvery crystal studs, and though John doesn't say it ever but he does think they're pretty cool. By which he means attractive. By which he means pretty fucking hot. _Piercings_, man. _Piercings_.

"What are you listening to?" John asks. Dave's only keeping one earbud in because he'd hardly be able to talk otherwise.

"LCD Sound System." Dave says.

"Who are they?" John asks. Dave responds by handing him the other earbud. It's the fancy new apple kind, so he has to make extra sure he puts it in the right ear. He listens for a moment. "They're kind of loud."

"That's the point." Dave says. "They want you to listen to them loud. Their recording is actually quiet, so you feel like you need to turn it up when their songs come on and wind up listening to them really loud."

"Huh, that's a neat trick." John says. "They aren't too bad. It's got kind of a. Like. A jungle rhythm feel."

"Jungle rhythm?" Dave asks, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah, something like that. I don't know how to explain it really but that's how it is." John says.

"Yeah. I guess I get that." Dave says. "Do you think we could even convince Karkat to join our band?"

"Maybe if we invite Terezi in too." John says. "So he feels like he has a real friend in it. I mean, gosh, we're a little mean to him aren't we?"

"Karkat's a dick." Dave says. "But he's also a bro."

"Also having a girl might give us some kind of special credit." John says.

"That's kind of an asshole way to look at it." Dave says. "Don't apologize, I know you're sorry. Anyway, remember in sophomore year when Karkat and Gamzee accidentally made that Molotov Cocktail and set the corner of the room on fire?"

"Is there even any possible human way to forget that?" John says. "Oh, god, that was so funny. Remember when he made the body-print?"

"Oh my god." Dave laughs. "With all the grey paint. I keep forgetting, did he do that over the grey turtle-neck he wears all the time or did he do it bare-chested?"

"You know, I really have no idea." John says. He takes the earbud and watches it swing over and past Dave's mostly full hot chocolate.

Dave's apple juice arrives and he drinks it very quickly. It's gone like *snap* and then he continues to ignore his hot chocolate.

"Who's your favorite music artist, right now?" John asks.

"Are we back to the question game?" Dave asks.

"Sure, why not. I realized there are things I don't even know about you, which is weird. It's like, I feel like I've always known you and I also feel like I _know_ you, but then you keep changing and I keep having to re-learn things about you. It's weird." John says.

"My favorite music artist would have to be either myself, because I'm fucking awesome," Dave says, and John rolls his eyes, "or maybe like, Modest Mouse? I don't know, I listen to a _lot _of music. Like, I can't believe I didn't realize that until now. But you know what, it's my turn now. What do you want to do?"

"What, like, today?" John asks.

"No, god, the other version. The way less cool one." Dave says. "Like... In general. With your life. God, this feels like a first date question."

"Is it a first date question?" John says.

"Ha ha, I'm sure in your dreams." Dave says. In his own mind Demi Lovato sings 'so close, and yet so far away,' and in John's he is laughing because wow. John is the kind of guy who is genuinely so oblivious to everything going on with Dave that he just strongly hopes Dave might say yes if he asked him out. John, whose feelings are probably around as strong as Dave's, which would be somewhere above a firm _maybe_ and probably below a _marry me_. The thing is though, below the romantic interest going on John does in fact have layers of Platonic Love for Dave. Because when all is said and done, Dave is his friend, and Dave is his _best_ friend of ever.

"Well." John says. "I think I might like to go into business, help Dad with the factory. Of course, that would mean moving back here, so maybe not then. Um. I don't actually know. I've always wanted to _build_ stuff. I mean, I've helped my dad work around the house fixing stuff, you know that. But I might like to take a class in carpentry. I want to make a bookshelf. Don't laugh, I know you want to, but that's a serious goal of mine. Sometime in my life, I would like to make a real, functional bookshelf, and not just a shelf stuck to a wall. Like, a full bookshelf."

"I'm sure it will be the sickest bookshelf to ever have books shelved on it." Dave says.

"My turn." John says in a singsongy voice. "Alright, well, I'd ask you the same question but that would be stupid and kind of a bit of an uncreative dead end, so I'll edit it a little. What do you want your life to be like? Not like what you want to do, but I guess kind of that. But like your fairytale ending, a little beach house in California with nine dogs kind of thing."

"Hm." Dave says. "I've always wanted to go to Europe, so that would have to happen somewhere along the way. Realistically I'd like to settle down in Texas, or Mexico, or some place with some fucking _heat_, I mean, this place is cold as _balls_."

Cronus sets down their pancakes. Dave and John both eagerly grab at their forks and start slicing out bites. There are a few moments of quiet chewing as they dig in. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, also the one most frequently missed out on by Teenagers because of having to wake up at a certain time and go to school. Dave eats breakfast regularly, John doesn't.

"I get what you mean. I might like to go somewhere warmer." John says. "I'm not actually sure I've ever been somewhere _warm_. Like I guess there have been warm days here, and in Washington, but my family doesn't do so much travel. Hell, I didn't even fly over to the middle of wherever Jake was raised to pick him up when he came to move in with us. I guess I've just kind of always been in the same spot."

"Wow." Dave says. "That thought is very pitiful. I'm sorry to say it, but it is. Just the thought of anyone, but especially you, never getting to appreciate the heat of something like a Texas Summer."

"It sounds nice." John says.

"Anyway, we were talking about _me _here," Dave says, "So I guess I definitely would want to settle down with someone. Depending on who, kids. I want to have a macaw– or no, maybe like a lovebird or cockatiel. Shut up. Birds are fucking awesome. You can teach them to say things like _fuck off_. It would be awesome. No cats, of course. Also, cats suck. That is a truth of life."

"You're allergic." John says. "You're allergic to cats, right? But not dogs."

"Yes but that particular fact is mostly separate from the list of facts about why cats suck. Dogs, maybe. Birds, fuck yeah. That's it. That's the entire story. Your turn. Or my turn. Depending on how we're looking at it. Anyway, let me think of a question." Dave says. He eats more of his pancakes. Another few moments pass of chewing. The butter on top isn't in a square, it's the kind shaped like a little ice cream scoop. "What's your favorite flavor of ice cream?"

"Neapolitan." John says. Dave smiles.

"That's three flavors." Dave says.

"No, you can get it all in one scoop and you can taste it all at once and they sell neapolitan ice cream tubs so it is too a flavor." John says. Dave chuckles. "Why are you laughing?"

"Nothing, just. Neapolitan." Dave says. "Go on?"

"It's my turn. If we're trending towards foods and candies now, what's your favorite candy?" John asks.

"Apple jolly ranchers. Apples, man. They're the fucking bomb." Dave says. "Can I ask you the same thing without it being my question?"

"Sure." John says. "The answer would probably be either be neapolitan astronaut ice cream, or fruit gushers."

"Really? Astronaut ice cream?" Dave asks. "You mean the freeze-dried ice cream?"

"Yes. That is exactly what I mean. And I can feel you judging me. Stop it. It's delicious! It really is!" John says. "You still have a question to ask, don't you? Go on then, ask a question."

"What kind of music do _you_ like?" Dave asks.

"Um." John says. "I don't know."

"Yes you do."

"Imagine Dragons, I guess? Fun? Coldplay?" John says. "Your music taste has gradually effected mine. I now like alternative. Isn't that strange? Popular alternative. Especially when their songs have pianos."

"That's pretty great. Man, maybe I can turn you into a hipster." Dave says.

"Never." John replies. "Not ever."

"Hey, you've already got the glasses." Dave says.

"These are not hipster glasses." John says.

"Aren't they?" Dave asks.

"Hipster glasses are like, young Ampora's glasses. Not mine." John says.

"Yeah, but they're wide rimmed." Dave says. "Wide rimmed means hipster."

"Well, I didn't do it to be cool or ironic, I did it because they were the cheapest glasses under our insurance plan that fit well." John says. "Besides, even if they were hipster glasses, that wouldn't make me a hipster."

"No?" Dave asks.

"No." John says. "Something that's almost startling to realize is that hipsters have become mainstream. The love of alternative type music is no longer frowned upon, but welcomed. It will be the new pop. There will be popular alternative stations on the radio, not even a pandora radio, that people will listen to."

"No." Dave says. "I refuse to believe that."

"If you search _glasses_ on google, hipster glasses come up. Everywhere. They're a _fashion trend_. Wearing a _fashion trend_ while it's popular isn't very hipster." John says. "I'm sorry Dave, but the age of _true_ hipsterism is dead. You are the last one."

"I am the last one." Dave says. "Jazz. Rock. Pop. Alternative. Long ago, the four genres lived together in harmony. Then, everything changed when the Pop fans attacked. Only the Hipsters, master of all music, could stop them. But when the world needed them most, they vanished–"

"This is madness." John says.

"Shut your bitch-ass mouth." Dave says. "A lot of hits passed before John discovered a new Hipster, the Hipster named Dave. Though his sick-fires and ill-beats skills are great–scratch what I was about to say because he actually doesn't need to learn anything more, because he's just that great. Also, he isn't going to save shit, but that's cool because he makes good mac and cheese."

"Do you make good mac and cheese?" John asks.

"Yes." Dave says. "I make the _best_ mac and cheese. So scratch that– that's cool because he makes the _best_ mac and cheese in the fucking _universe_."

"You'll have to give me some sometime." John says.

"I will. I will do that and it will be spectacular. Your tastebuds will be mind-blown in their brains–I don't even know where I'm going with this one but it doesn't matter because it fucking rocks." Dave says. He finishes his pancakes. John is down to half a pancake. Dave stare at him until he finishes. John can tell he's staring, too. He can't see his eyes but he can feel the staring like ray-beams bursting through the lenses of Dave's glasses. In response to this, he of course eats his remaining half of a pancake as slowly as humanly possible, cutting tiny tiny pieces with the ultimate precision and eating them one at a time. Dave does not break, he does not tell John to eat faster. He just sits there, watching. And then eventually, after three minutes or so, he does break, reaching over to John's plate slowly and smoothly with his fork. The first time he tries this, John manages an amazing block. The metal makes a sweet and high little clank as it's smashed together. The next attempt, however, is successful, and Dave manages to drag the almost quarter of un-dissected pancake straight into his mouth. He doesn't bother cutting it, he just shoves the whole thing into his face-hole, giving his cheeks a chipmunk-like appearance. John snorts a laugh around his bite of food. Of course, he can't infinitely drag out the three remaining bites of pancake, so soon they've paid the check and are out of there, on the road.

The sun has risen, it's watercolored the sky the blueish grey color of a cloudy morning.

"So, where again are we off to first?" John asks.

"Thrift shop!" Dave says. "We're going to bump some cash. Gotta warn you though, I only have twenty dollars in my pocket."

"Is that for real or are you quoting song lyrics?" John asks.

"Song lyrics, of course. I'm not going to go cheap-o on you about this. This is _important_." Dave says.

"How important?" John asks. "Like, Con-Air important?"

"In what way is Con-Air important?" Dave asks.

"It's a super great movie, that's how." John says.

"It's super important but I refuse to use Con-Air as a reference point." Dave says. He plugs his iPhone into the car jack– because even though his car is shitty and old, music is something so important to him that he would go and get a stereo upgrade– and starts playing something.

"What's this song?" John asks.

"You ask that question a _lot_." Dave says. "Just listen."

"Is this about death?" John asks.

"It could be." Dave says.

"Is it about the Holocaust." John says.

"Shh, just. Listen." Dave says. "Appreciate the sound."

John can feel whatever it is Dave's playing. He can feel the music, literally feel it. Dave keeps turning it up, until John thinks it might be rattling in his bones.

The sky is grey but the grass is a glowing golden and the evergreens are ever-green as always. John always things he might just want to breathe in the landscape. He's lived here long enough that he thinks wherever he goes a little bit of Montana will come with him, like he might find a piece of grass stuck through a hole in one of his knitted scarves and feel too nostalgic to take it out and throw it away. You could make a saying that would only somewhat apply to the situation; You can take the boy out of Montana, but you can't take the Montana out of the boy. But of course John knows the Montana will leave him. And he doesn't even really mind that particularly, it's just that when you're young home is something you're given, and when you're older home is something you find for yourself. Washington was given to him, and so was Montana, but he knows soon he'll have to choose a home for himself, and he thinks he probably isn't going to choose either of them. And that's part of growing up, for him. He's going to college in Washington, but other than that he doesn't really know where he'll find himself. He doesn't have any idea of where he wants his next home to be. And for him, that's what's scary. Because more than anything, more than finding a job or choosing a degree, finding and choosing his home is what taking control of his life is.

They pull up to the thrift store and enter.

"So, what we want to do is head straight for the swimsuit section. It will probably have very few things, and all of these things will be for females. This is what we want." Dave says. "Not the very few part, but the female part."

"Why swimsuits?" John asks. "Why not look at, like, dresses?"

"We're making our costumes. Plus there's like a zero percent chance we'll find what we're looking for over there. Here, look at this. It's a halter top swimsuit. We could wrap the strappy-tie-dealie around your neck and then glue the star to the front." Dave says.

"I am honestly surprised by how many fashion words you know, Dave." John says. "I'm not going to lie, I never thought you were the type of guy to have that kind of a vocabulary."

"I'm sure I'll never stop surprising you." Dave says. He turns to John. "I don't feel like we need to spend too much time on this part of your dress, I think this might actually look sexier than the actress. What's her name."

"Jane Russell?" John says.

"Yes. Her." Dave replies.

"It will be sexier? Are you talking about me, or the dress?" John says.

"The dress." Dave says. "This one dress will be sexier than one of hollywood's most famous actresses from whatever that era was. Go try this on, John."

"The chance that I will be able to fit into that is very slim." John says.

"Well, do you think you could fit into the top part?" Dave asks.

"Probably." John says. "There's actually like, a fifty fifty chance."

"Well, I'll get it then in good faith and hope it all works out. We can cut it in half." Dave says.

They meander around the store for the next hour and a half or so, examining various options. At one point they get into a very loud and very serious _debate_– _not argument_– about what Dave might and might not be able to fit into. Dave said he had too manly of a figure for one of the dresses which John was suggesting as a substitute for the previous idea of using the swimsuit he ordered online. John suggested that Dave might _possibly _just be petulant about sticking to the plan and not having to change his idea. Dave finds a scarf for himself which is really more on the reddish side of orange than the orange side of orange, and a feather boa that John can wear around his arms as a substitute for the fur shawl or whatever it is in the picture. The feather boa isn't really grey at all, more blue. They purchase everything and head to the car.

"This scarf will look pretty great on you." John says. "I can totally see you rocking the hipster scarf thing. Who's more like Ampora, now?"

"I never said you were that much like Ampora, only that your glasses looked a little hipstery." Dave says.

"They aren't though. They super duper aren't." John says.

"And this _scarf_ super duper isn't." Dave says.

They go to the big store where Dave had his swimsuit reserved and they look at real men's shoes for a tiny bit because John does need new sneakers. His sneakers are all worn down and scuffed up because he's had them for almost half a year and worn them everywhere. When he gets sneakers, it's not just buying an accessory like it seems to be for some women. If he were Dave he would probably make the apt comparison between his sneakered foot and an onion, in which his foot is the onion and the sneaker is about six of the exterior layers.

They bump into Rose and Kanaya just outside the fabric store. Rose says to them, "You're close enough to defeat that I would bet you'll be able to start smelling it within the next fifteen minutes."

"Not a chance." Dave says. "We're doing a tango of 'who wore it better' and I think you know who's going to take the gold."

"I'm sure your charming physiques will complement the dresses well if everything doesn't completely fall apart right away." Rose says.

"It's on like Donkey Kong. I'll see you at the showdown." Dave says.

They spend, in total, more time than should be necessary at the fabric store. This is because Dave is the type of person to argue about shades of black. He's dedicated to this project and is doing this confusing thing which is a mix of full commitment and half-assery that kind of throws John off. They leave the store with a full bag of cloth and go to lunch.

There's a very lovely Sbarro right there so they eat there.

"Man, I love garlic bread." John says.

"How much do you love garlic bread." Dave says. "Is it like your family? Levels one to Scott Pilgrim, how much do you love garlic bread?"

"Scott Pilgrim." John says. "I loved that movie."

"I know you did." Dave says. "I read the comics before I even heard there would be a movie coming out."

"That statement." John laughs. "Is very hipster. What are you trying to prove to me here?"

"Nothing." Dave says. "What, what? I'm not trying to prove anything."

"Anyways, I'm Scott Pilgrim." John says. "Who are you?"

"Can I just say, first, that I am way cooler than any of those people?" Dave says.

"No. You can't." John says.

"Alright, well I'm Wallace."

"The gay roommate?"

"Fuck yeah!" Dave says. "He's pretty real, man. Except my rating is more than just a 7.5 out of 10. I'm more like an eleven. I'm off the charts. I'm so off the charts, they have people making new charts to chart my continual rise away from the chart. I just keep going."

"Wallace is pretty cool." John says.

They screw around and waste some time, then they go back to Dave's house to try to start working on their costumes. It is hard. It really is hard. Harder than Dave anticipated. It's actually probably kind of easy, all they actually need to do is make two really simple skirts. But neither of them know how to use a sewing machine, and the fabric glue doesn't work very well, and there are a few steps they decided they could skip when actually you cannot skip any steps, that is a big no, unless you're a professional costume designer who has done this for like a hundred years. The worst thing that happens is John accidentally sewing shut one of the openings in the skirt because he thought there might be an easier way and that might be it, or something. No one was really thinking clearly at the time.

Finally, they make the two skirts. No one knows how long it's taken. Dave thinks that for all they know meteors might have rained down on earth and started the apocalypse, and it might have even been their responsibilities as awesome hero dudes to save it or something. He checks out the window just to make sure, because something like that happening would be really really bad and tragic.

They put the costumes together and then try them on. Dave twirls fashionably and then flips his scarf. All in all, they look terrible, but it's pretty fun and Dave is unwilling to admit defeat so they call it a success and pack the costumes up. John flops on the couch and Dave joins him with two cups of apple juice.

"I thought you said I didn't respect apple juice enough." John says.

"You earned it today, and I'm sure you will learn, in time." Dave says. They drink in silence for a few moments.

Dave's house is cluttered. There are things everywhere, from amps and guitar picks and microphones to just a lot of random piles of magazines and socks and other crap. But there isn't anything on the couch, or the coffee table, or any of the beds or chairs. Probably a concession his family had to fight for, or possibly some kind of ritual he created for himself.

"So are we really going to make a band?" John asks. "For real?"

"Don't get too ambitious for today." Dave says. "But yes."

"I should call Karkat." John says. "And ask him to be our drummer."

"What did I say about ambition?" Dave says.

"We should start tomorrow." John says.

"Whoa there." Dave says.

"I'm feeling productive!" John says.

"No shit." Dave says. John picks Dave's phone up off the coffee table. It rings. He knows Karkat's number by heart. He knows all of his classmates's numbers by heart. That's how people used to do it, also, John doesn't have a very good phone. He has the kind of phone that would have excited people when it first came out because of customizable ringtones. It's not capable of storing a whole lot of contacts, not that he'd need to store a whole lot of contacts, but accessing people through the contact system is difficult and involves lots of scrolling. It's to the point where it became easier for John to just memorize the numbers then try to go through all his contacts every single time he wanted to call someone. Karkat picks up on the fifth ring.

"What the fuck do you want." Karkat says first thing.

"We want you to be in a band with us!" John says in his most cheery voice. Karkat hangs up immediately. John calls him back. It takes two tries before he reaches him again. "You play the drums, right? It would be the best thing. Doesn't Terezi play bass, too? Man, it could be totally cool!"

"You're correct, Terezi does play the bass. I don't play the drums, I hit things with sticks. Loudly." Karkat says.

"Well, you're exactly what we need, then!" John says. "Come on, it'll be fun."

"Who's going to be in this thing?" Karkat asks.

"So you're considering it?" John asks.

"I have decided to make you regret hiring me as a drummer." Karkat says.

"We're not paying you shit." Dave calls out. He's got his head very close to the other side of the phone, his ear smudging the case a little bit, so he can hear the conversation.

"Oh, don't worry. I wasn't expecting shit from you. Besides, your screams will be enough, when I play very loudly and out-do your expectations. When is the first rehearsal?" Karkat says.

"Tomorrow!" John says.

"You never asked me–" Dave starts, but John silences him with a loud shush.

"None of us have a drum set so it should be at your house, unless you want to drive your drums over to mine or Dave's, which would be fine too." John says.

"I will host." Karkat says. "Terezi will be there."

"I already have like, eight songs written." Dave says. "Instrumental stuff. John and I can do lyrics. Unless you have objections."

"I will play loudly over whatever you play, so it really doesn't matter." Karkat says. He hangs up.

"Lyrics?" John asks Dave.

"Well, we've got to find something to do to take up the rest of the day." he says. "I promised I wouldn't give you back until past your bedtime and I will uphold that promise."

"Well I should hear your songs then, if I'm supposed to help you write lyrics for them." John says.

They wind up driving out to the small lake by Ampora's with a picnic blanket and Dave's laptop. Drinking cokes they watch the sky grow darker quickly. He sets up the picnic blanket on the ground and puts his computer up on the hood of the car.

"Not much of a sunset." Dave says.

"No, it isn't, is it." John says. A moment passes. "It's more like the color is just being sucked out out of the sky by some kind of cosmic vampire."

"That could be a song title." Dave says.

"What could? Sucked Out Of The Sky?" John asks.

"Well, that too, but I was thinking Cosmic Vampire." Dave says.

"Dude that name really sucks." John says, and then takes a few minutes to laugh to himself. Dave chuckles a few times too. "Puns are the best ever."

"We should make that song though. Actually. Right now, let's do it!" Dave says. They play a song from his library of musics that he made in garage band, and they listened together.

"What if," John says, "And I'm not really a writer but can I have a pen or something? To work with?"

"Sure." Dave says. He nudges the computer towards John and opens up a fresh word document.

"Also can we not use the Cosmic Vampire idea?" John says.

"What?" Dave asks.

"No I'm sorry the Cosmic Vampire idea just sucks." John says. Dave grumbles something like 'yeah sure whatever'. John starts typing, then looks back up at Dave. "What should it be about?"

"What are most songs about?" Dave asks. "I don't know."

"Usually people write about feelings." John says.

"Write about feelings then." Dave says.

"Yeah but like." John says. He taps his finger rapidly on the side of Dave's Macbook. "Like what? What should I write about? Specifically?"

"John, can you sing? I'm pretty sure it's my turn in the question game so I'm going to ask you that." Dave says.

"Uh, I'm pretty sure it _isn't_ your turn but I'll let you ask anyway." John says. "I _can_ sing but I don't think I can sing very _well_. I mean it's not like I _sing_ so I guess I'm like passable or something."

"That's okay, you don't need to be able to sing very well." Dave says. "I'm not much of a singer. I play the guitar."

"Is the guitar ironic?" John asks.

"Yeah, in a way. Anyone who can strum out three chords suddenly is a musician who thinks they have the stuff of legends going for them." Dave says. "Like there's real talent on guitar but you won't find it in a whole lot of popular pop guitarists."

"Hm." John says. "Are you one of those people?"

"I'm using guitar as an instrument for my purposes, I'm learning to do what I want to do with it, but I'm not going to go further then that." Dave says.

"What's something good to start a song on?" John asks.

"What, like a prompt?" Dave asks. "A question? You could use a question. Don't start it on the question though."

"No?" John asks.

"No." Dave says.

"What kind of a question though?" John asks. "What are we as a band trying to convey to our audiences?"

"We are the Land of Heat and Clockwork, album one, The Principality of Ghostland." Dave says. He closes his eyes. "Something smooth. A machine. Heat could be fire. Destruction, maybe. Creation."

"I have an idea." John says. "I have an idea oh god I'm going to write it down."

"You do that!" Dave says. "You go, man!"

"Shhh!" John says. Dave goes quiet. It starts taking some time, so he takes the earbuds and wanders to sit by the bank of the lake and listen to music. There are trees surrounding it, and shadows in between them that scare him to look too much at. He's not afraid of the dark, he really isn't, but it's the dark and a woodland area where things live. He's fine with things, he really is, he just prefers to learn about them before they jump on him.

"Done!" John shouts, and that shout reminds him of the ding his microwave makes after it's done cooking something. Dave sits up and starts scrambling over. "It's pretty shitty but it's something and I might be kind of proud of it." Before he's even done saying that, Dave turns the computer away from him. An excerpt of the lyrics:

_"When the lights turn off the ghosts stop pretending_

_And peel themselves off the wall, _

_For every soul there's another one pending_

_On their admission into heaven or hell._

_What if all the ghosts around you_

_Could talk? What would they say._

_They could form their own continent_

_With a tyrant who rules over the bay _

_Where new souls come in every day;_

_What would they say, the ghosts_

_All around you? Who left them_

_Behind?_

_CHORUS_

_I have a feeling that when I leave this place,_

_My shadow won't stick to my heels._

_I'll leave another ghost behind _

_And let it keep turning the gears._

_This town is a factory that makes_

_People who want to chase the light of day,_

_It's the kind of place from which_

_Everyone runs away, that's it,_

_It's a Ghostland."_

"Can you sing it?" Dave asks. John starts to sing and he really wasn't exaggerating his voice, it's pretty good but it's not great, but suddenly Dave just has this _urge_, hearing John sing for the first time. This overwhelming moment of icky, gooey, cinematic affection that he just– hugs him.

"Dave?" John asks. And because Dave knows that in relationships everything's about waiting for moments, like when is it _right_ to have that kiss and when is it _right _to fuck and when is it _right_ to propose, or maybe some relationships are so casual and awesome that they don't need those– the point is it is a moment and the right time so he's not going to let it pass.

John's wearing a hoodie so Dave grabs the sides of his hood and pulls his face forward and just kind of. Smoosh. That's their mouths. Kissing with their eyes open.

John's eyes are a shade he knows by heart. Bombay Sapphire. Belize. Dave removes his forcefully administered mouth and puts his chin on John's shoulder.

"I think I might be in lesbians with you. Just a little bit." Dave says. He ironically quotes things, all the time. John loves that. Dave's the only one who would try to write off movie quoting as ironic. He knows they're not really that different in that way.

"I think you might be looking for a different word." John laughs. He understood the quote, he really did. But he thinks the real thing would be a better nectar for the butterflies in the stomach so he does that one poke of prodding.

"Homosexuals?" Dave says, and John can't see his face because Dave's chin is still on his shoulder.

"Pretty close." John says. "And by the way, me too. I lesbian you, at least a little bit. And I think I homosexual you a whole lot."

John takes one of Dave's earbuds and asks softly, "What are you listening to?" for the umpteenth time in the day. Probably like the sixth time. No one's really counting anyway.

Dave doesn't respond, just gropes around for John's hand to hold while he listens.

Later, John will look it up online by the lyrics and find the song, called Home by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros.

He puts his earbud in just before the chorus, and hears: "Home, let me go home. Home is wherever I'm with you." He smiles. And then he takes the earbud out, because while it's fantastic and he loves it, he's heard enough for now, and takes Dave's earbud out, and puts everything on the hood of the car. No iPhones on Dave, no computers, no music.

Glasses. They're like a wall which he wish he could just explode down with a grenade. Or something. Or probably he could do it just with his frustrated teenage feelings. Dave looks like he doesn't know what's going on, because he probably doesn't, as John puts all that _stuff_ in the backseat. And then he turns to Dave. And he kisses him back.

He messes with Dave's hair while he does it. He grabs at Dave's shirt. He puts his hands on his shoulders and hips and back and clutches at the nape of his neck. Dave just holds him.

John breaks away because breathing is a thing and takes a step back. Then he grins.

"How would you like to come back to my place?" he asks in an ironic pick up way Dave might appreciate even though he's not sure why it would be ironic.

"Do you put out for all your dates?" Dave asks. "You haven't even bought me dinner yet. Way to treat a guy."

"Oh, please." John says. "I'm pretty sure all of today could have qualified as a date."

"I suppose." Dave says. He pulls John back against him and kisses him again and then–

he trips. In a totally climatic way. And both of them roll down the hill and into the freezing cold mini-lake.

It's shallow, so it only takes a few seconds for them to pop up again after a brief tumble below the surface. All it takes, really, is sitting up. And then they're both laughing and shivering at the same time, so hard their teeth will all fall out and they'll have to get Dentures early but it will have been worth it for the memory.

They drag themselves out of the water, slowly, their clothing heavy and cold against their goose-bumped skin. They climb into the front seats of the car, roll the windows up, and turn the heat on.

"You know, John, we'll probably get warmer faster if we remove our clothing." Dave says. John laughs some more. God, it's such a laugh-y day. He takes off a few layers, his scarf and his coat and his jacket, but he's still cold so he decides to just wait until the car heats up some more.

It's fifteen minutes before Dave starts driving, and by then the night is painted gray. The sky is a matrix opal with all the colors of stars and planets too bright for them to see.

"Alright, you'll let me out and then I'll go inside through the front door and then I'll sneak you in." John says.

"Your dad is like totally cool can't I just come in the front." Dave says.

"My dad is a classic dad and maybe he's pretty cool but classic dads are all worried about their children having sex and their daughters being seduced by the guys even if they are pleasantly nice football guys." John says. "And in those scenarios, one of them is a girl who has not yet been fully seduced so the probability of sex is only like fifty to seventy-five percent, whereas we are almost men who have already seduced each other so there is like a one hundred percent chance of sexytimes."

"I am very happy to hear that." Dave says.

"Alright, you can let me out here." John says.

"No, I think I'm going to pull up to your house." Dave says.

"But–" John says.

"Your clothes are wet." Dave says. "You could die."

"Okay." John says. Dave pulls up to his house, reaches into the backseat, hands John his phone and wet clothing, and turns the heat off.

"I'll go wait under your window, alright?" Dave says. John has a second story bedroom overlooking the marvelous driveway and also some trees. He doesn't have any clue how John plans to sneak him in. They've got this regular kind of bumpy metal wall paneling on the exterior of their house so maybe he could kind of like, climb that or something? Really though, this isn't necessary. Dave gets out of the car and waits under the window.

John, meanwhile, opens the door which was left unlocked by his father and enters the kitchen.

"That cake looks pretty good." John says. His dad, who is wearing a fedora despite standing around inside his own home, smiles. John doesn't say more and hopes that passed for a normal social interaction. He climbs the stairs to his room and shuts the door behind him before flicking the lights on.

His room is not very large, there's his bed with it's blue sheets and blue ikea comforter and there's his little desk sandwiched right in between the mattress and the other wall that he sometimes hits his hand on when he turns and flails too much in his sleep. Then there's the built in closet, wherein lie his clothes. Everything's pretty neat, neater than most would think it should be for a teenage boy's room. He leans out the window and looks down. He sees Dave leaning gently against the wall of the house.

"Dave." He loud-whispers. "Daaaave." Dave looks up. John smiles. He runs back to his closet and retrieves his amazing sheet-bandana rope which he lowers down. He can hear Dave say, "Oh my god Egbert are you even for real." It's a rope, made of bandanas and sheet type cloths tied together very tightly. He's used it himself before so he thinks it's probably safe for Dave, though he _is_ getting pretty tall. He's at least six one by now.

Dave starts climbing the rope. He does it fairly quickly, too, because he's athletic. He did sword fighting with his brother's swords at one point. He did fencing back in Texas. John is at least thirty percent sure he still does some kind of fencing and also boxing.

"Do you box?" John asks Dave as he climbs up the rope.

"Sometimes." Dave huffs so John takes it for a yes. And then his door opens and he turns.

"John, would your friend David like some tea?" John's dad asks. John whips around. His end of the rope is tied to the bed so he's not really sure if he looks like he's been caught in the act of doing something but whoops guess he has.

"David? Haha." John says weakly. "He's not here I mean."

"Sup Mr. Egbert." Dave says. His forearms are resting on the bottom on the window frame, John can only guess that his feet are on the top of the window frame of the room below or he can't wait to see Dave shirtless. Actually, that's probably true in any case. Probably _very_ true.

"How did you know he was here? Before you saw him, I mean?" John says weakly. He's sounding very weak right now, because he has one hundred percent been caught red handed.

"I saw his car." John's dad says. "David, would you like some tea? Apple cider?"

"Thanks but no thanks Mr. Egbert. I might take you up on that second offer later though." Dave says.

"Haha this was a really fun joke Dave thank you for helping me with it." John says. "You can go now." This is probably the lamest attempt at disguising the fact that he was hiding something.

"John, if you and David are sexually or romantically involved you can tell me." John's Dad says. "David, would you like to come in?"

"Sure, Mr. Egbert. It would be my pleasure." Dave says.

"Next time, I won't mind if you use the front door, or back door. Or any door at all, actually." John's Dad says. Dave climbs in fully and sits down on John's bed, next to John who has assumed the position of defeat: lying back with his feet off the edge of the bed, shoulders limp, elbows bent, hands cradling face with the eyes covered. "Now John this is a very serious talk you might want to sit up for this one."

"Oh god." John says.

"Yes John, I think we should all have a talk together." Dave says. John sits up, but his shoulders remain very hunched. Dad looks both of them in the eyes, more so John than Dave.

"I know you go to a small school so they don't have very many classes, which means there's a lesser chance you're informed about these things than other kids at larger schools–" John's Dad says. John groans and murmurs 'why me' quietly. John's Dad ignores it and keeps talking. "–I'm sure you understand the risk of teen pregnancy with heterosexual sex, and I just wanted to remind you that even though there's no risk of pregnancy in homosexual intercourse, there's still the risk of STD's, STI's, and other infections–" a whimper of ultimate suffering and shame from John, "–If you can remember to play safe, I don't mind if you two want to 'fool around' and whatnot, I jut wanted to remind you to use protection."

"Yes Dad I think we're done thank you." John says.

"Well, I'll just leave this right here for you boys then." John's Dad says, putting a condom packet down on the desk.

"Alright yes thank you Dad goodbye." John says.

"I get it, you'd like me to leave now."

"Yes."

"I'll just, leave you two to it then." John's Dad says. He exits in the most awkward possible fashion. John gets up and locks the door behind him.

"Oh, god." John says and shudders.

"See, I told you your dad's cool." Dave says. He reaches over and grabs the thing off the desk. He holds it up. "Ribbed."

"I want to forget this whole conversation." John says.

"Why, John?" Dave asks. "Do you want to forget all the _useful information_ we just learned?"

"Oh, stop it." John says.

"Well, in any case, at least now we have a condom." Dave says.

"That's true." John says. "I don't know, I think it might be a bit too soon for that, though."

"What, for sex?" Dave asks.

"Well, I mean, you know. That kind." John says. He blushes a little bit. He sits on the bed, facing Dave, and Dave spins to face him. "Are we boyfriends now?"

"Yep I guess so it's not like people do one night stands with their best friends." Dave says.

"Don't they?" John says.

"Well, maybe sometimes, but definitely not if their best friend goes to a small school with them and they're also high-schoolers." Dave says.

"What does high-school really have to do with that?" John asks. Dave shrugs.

"More emotionally needy stuff, I guess? It's just different, I assume." Dave says.

"But do you _want to be _my boyfriend?" John asks. Their legs are crossed on the bed and Dave's shoes are on the bed and he looks wet still. "Here, let me get you another shirt to change into."

John goes to the closet and tucks away the bandana rope. He takes out a shirt he think will be large enough for Dave and tosses it over his shoulder, and then grabs one for himself.

"Yes. I think I'd like to be your boyfriend." Dave says. John smiles. He heads back to the bed.

"Alright, then. Do you trust me?" John asks. There's a pause of silence that fills the air as Dave inhales. It fills the room, it bounces off the walls, it stings in John's ears.

"Yes." Dave says. He's sitting, not fidgeting or moving. Just sitting. His shoulders are a little bit slumped. His legs are crossed and stretched across the bed lengthwise. John climbs back onto the bed and kneels around him, bracketing his thighs with his knees. He's looking down at Dave, at his face, then he decides to just sit in Dave's lap to put them on more equal ground.

He puts his hands on Dave's shoulders, kisses him on the mouth, and then trails his fingers up to where the earpieces of his glasses are ready. Dave takes a deep breath and then gives a faint nod.

Dave's eyes are closed when the glasses are removed, but once John's put the glasses on the bedside table and he can feel the casual stir of John's breath against his cheek, he opens them.

He hears John's gasp, he sees John's gasp, and he winces.

It's not as casual as he made it sound talking to John earlier. Nobody else has red eyes, no one else that he'd met before. When you have pale hair and light white skin, you're just a slightly paler caucasian person. But when you have red eyes you're albino, and people think of all your qualities and all the color that belong to you like symptoms of a disease. People don't seem to realize that labels are the pieces of tape on the outside of christmas boxes that let them know which cookie cutters to put you with when they pack you away in their mind. People don't seem to realize all the words they use that could have been just adjectives are transformed into the masks that people hide behind and the walls people try to break through when they're applied too firmly. Dave doesn't even have eyes like a normal albino person, his pupils are a deep black where they're supposed to be the same deep and vibrant red that his irises are. Maybe he isn't any kind of albino, his hair and skin really aren't that pale enough, but they still share a box.

He has to blink a couple times to adjust his eyes to the light. Something his glasses had prevented him from seeing before was just how bright Bombay Sapphire seems to be. John's eyes.

And John, of course, doesn't think Dave is a freak like Dave has always assumed he would. He doesn't think of any labels or boxes or cookie cutters that fit Dave's outline.

He thinks back to the first time he saw him, to the unborn raindrops frozen on his cheeks and the skin still giving off the warmth of a sun hotter than anything he'd ever felt before. And he thinks some more, about all the different metaphors people use to describe figuring someone out and learning who they are. Dave is a jigsaw puzzle, and some might say this was the missing piece but John knows that's incorrect because then there would always be another piece missing and another piece missing for every new thing he learns. So really he is a jigsaw puzzle, but not the kind you finish. The kind you keep on adding to, and the picture keeps expanding. And maybe instead of a picture they form words, and all of those words add up to the definition of Dave. John really isn't good at these metaphor things, he really isn't, especially when his mind is racing like it is. It's just buckets of word vomit that are never going to fly out of his mouth. But so far in his Dave puzzle the words would look something like this: Loves irony, unironically _loves_ so many things, like apple juice and music and photographs and movie quotes and quoting movies and maybe even John. Whose eyes are hot like fire (in every way) because he's forging and he's making something out of this world and the life he's given. And someday, when the atmosphere can no longer hold him down he'll rise, because heat rises, and take his place among the stars in the matrix-opal sky. And nobody really looks close enough to see his colors but they're there, and maybe they're just too bright for anyone to see.

John kisses him, because this isn't how new relationships are. New relationships are awkward and some feelings and feeling your way in a dark hall hoping to find the light switch. Actually that metaphor is really apt in more way than one because, feeling times over, he is a horny teenage boy and he is really _turned on_. Also, no way better than sex to tell someone you aren't freaked out by the fact they look like a Twilight vampire, just a little bit.

He pushes Dave down his back and puts his hands just above Dave's shoulders on the bed. He kisses him in the mouth a lot. Lots of small kisses and then one firm making out dealie. Dave tentatively reaches up his hands and puts them on John's waist, then slides them down to his hips. John leans down and whispers in Dave's ear, "Thank you for trusting me."

"So how hot am I then?" Dave says, though he doesn't sound as confident as he wants to.

"Way hotter than Edward Cullen." John jokes.

"Well, we knew that already." Dave says and John lets out an internal sigh of relief that he didn't offend him.

"How about just really fucking hot, then." John says. Even with that reassurance, Dave feels vulnerable. He feels more vulnerable than ever before, like John is forcing him to be vulnerable with his eyes and everything. He's not sure what to do. "You should take your shirt off."

"Sure." Dave says.

He shucks his shirt and tosses it off to the side. John bites his lip because Dave is just as sculpted as he thought he might be. Damn it, now his own physique won't seem impressive at all. He thinks, maybe if he takes his own shirt off quickly, like a bandaid from a wound or something, though he knows that's an exaggeration. He takes his own shirt off, less smoothly, less dramatically, and just kind of drops it. Dave smiles, and John goes down for more kissing.

There's a lot of tongue involved, and gasping in the gaps between their lips they make when they need to breathe. And then John keeps touching Dave's chest and stomach, because they really are nice. He suddenly thinks, 'what if I licked him' so he does.

Dave's nerves light up and he gasps. John licks his nipple and he arches into it. God, he never knew he had a thing for that before. A sharp twist of pleasure and pain as John lets his teeth rake over it and his back arches a little bit off the bed. Dave can feel John's smile against his chest, and then a trace of wet as his tongue moves to the other side. But instead of going to his other nipple he goes to his collarbone. There's pressure there, and heat, and a swipe of tongue as John sucks a hickey. He didn't know he had a thing for that, either. But now he does.

John can feel Dave's boner pressing into his calf so he moves down there. He traces his way down Dave's abs with his tongue and then pauses to undo Dave's jeans. Dave reaches down and undoes them himself, because they're teenage boys, _really_, and John leaves the boxers on because he can work with that and also he likes the ironic white-with-hearts look. He nuzzles his way down into Dave's blond pubic hair and figures that he's seen enough porn to know what he's doing with this. He tentatively licks, and then sputters a little bit at the taste. Then he dives back in, because actually doesn't mind that much. He purses his lips around the head and loosens them as he slides slowly down the shaft. He traces his tongue down the underside and flattens it across the slit. He doesn't really know what he's doing but Dave seems to be enjoying it.

Dave is actually enjoying it a lot. He knows that, as blow-jobs go, this is probably pretty crappy, but he doesn't actually have anything to compare it to besides his own hand, and it's certainly much better than that. Also, looking down and seeing John wrapped around his cock is pretty nice.

"Fuck." He hisses for a few seconds. Pleasure builds in his stomach and everywhere else, like a rubber band being stretched from everywhere.

And then he's coming, like the rubber band snapping back into place in a way that totally knocks the breath out of him.

He probably should have warned John though. John spits into a kleenex and throws it away.

Dave lifts himself off the bed and when John sits back down he slips his hand straight into his pants. John leans back against him and lets his head roll onto Dave's shoulder. Dave jacks him off quickly, and then it's done, and John has to get up again to change his underwear but he really doesn't feel like it so he just curls into Dave's side again.

"That was." Dave says. He coughs a little. "Fun."

"I'm not sure I much enjoy the taste of Penis but I'm sure I'll get used to it eventually." John says.

"Will you?" Dave asks. "The implications of that."

"I know." John says. They lie together in a moment of silence. "I care about you a lot."

"I care about you too." Dave says. He's still feeling a little bit shaky and vulnerable, but he's sure it's something he'll get over pretty soon. Just a first time thing, with couples. Probably.

"Do you like cuddling?" John asks.

"Do you?" Dave asks.

"Yes, I think so." John says. "Will you cuddle with me?"

"Sure." Dave says. He wraps his arms around John.

"We should get under the blankets." John says.

"Should we?" Dave asks.

"Yes." John says. "We should." He strips back the sheets and tucks himself under them. Dave is close behind. John is the little spoon, Dave curls around him. Dave does like cuddling, though he's always felt it's so unmanly he shouldn't be able to say it. But John has, so maybe he will. Yep, he definitely will.

"I think I like cuddling too." Dave says.

"You have a nice butt." John says.

"Thank you." Dave says. "I work out." He starts humming 'sexy and I know it'.

"I can tell." John says. He starts humming a different song.

"What song is that?" Dave asks. Because really, these boys with their music questions.

"That one from earlier." John says.

"You'll have to be more specific." Dave says.

"I don't know the name, but it goes like–" John clears his throat and sings a little, soft and under his breath in a way that lets Dave know it's just for him. "Home, let me go home. Home is wherever I'm with you."

"Oh, yeah." Dave says. "That one." And he might be blushing a little bit, he really might, but he's the big spoon so John can't call him on it.

They fall asleep like that, just barely under the covers with the lights turned on. John's Dad tries to come in while they're sleeping but John has the door locked so the lights stay on and wasting power until five-thirty in the morning when Dave wakes up and writes fresh song lyrics on John's computer:

_"Westly's eyes were like the sea after the storm,_

_She said, said Buttercup._

_And when they all asker her _

_How he was doing she said fine, fine, fine._

_Well I have a Westly of mine,_

_And maybe he'll save me, _

_When I get too lost in these_

_Swampy thoughts I grow in my head."_

It really was not great and he deleted the file after printing out a copy, folding it, and putting it in his pocket. John didn't have to know anything went on while he was asleep.

Downstairs, Dave soon discovers, John's Dad is making pancakes, and a lot. Probably the best twenty four hours of his existence. He sits down on the couch and starts going through his phone. No new messages, no new texts, no missed calls. He decides to text his brother. _John and I totally just hooked up_. The response he receives is way too fast considering Dirk is supposed to be getting married right now, he says: _No way then John and Jake can be brothers_. Dave laughs. He knows what Dirk's talking about. If he and John got married, which would be _way _off in the future, they would be brothers-in-law. Wow, but isn't that a freaky thought. Marriage?

"Would you like some pancakes, David?" John's Dad asks.

"Yes please, sir." Dave says. John's Dad puts a plate in front of him, faster than Dave can get up to get one himself.

"Did you and John have a good time last night?" John's Dad asks. "I hope you played safe."

"We did, sir, I can assure you." Dave says. "On both counts."

"Now, I hate to play the role of the stereotypical girlfriend's dad," (internal laughter), "though I'm sure at this time you're very well aware that John is _not_ a female. I just wanted to make sure you're, well, you're a good person to him. I'm not sure how else to phrase it but, I know John's capable of making his own decisions but I just need to know a few things before I feel comfortable 'handing him over' to you and whatnot."

"Of course." Dave says.

"First off, I hope you're not some sort of a closet case and his being a guy is going to affect you in some way? I hardly see how that's possible, what with your brother being as flamboyantly homosexual as he is." John's Dad says.

"There have never been any closets to come out of." Dave says. "We were raised with a no-assumptions policy with things like sexuality."

"I'm very glad to hear that." John's Dad says. "I'd just like to let you know, also, that because of your class size you'll have to own up to your full responsibility when you and John fight or if you do anything to him. Now, I'm sure you're already very much aware of that, but if I hear you're telling lies about my son to the other students I will take action and I may be forced to involve your brother in some way."

"That will not be necessary." Dave says.

"Above all, just respect him." John's Dad says. "He is a human being and he is your boyfriend so you need to let him know before you make any decisions about what you'll tell other people or, I don't know. Just, respect him."

"I will, thank you Mr. Egbert." Dave says. He takes out his phone and takes a picture with them both in it.

"What are you doing?" John's Dad asks.

"Oh, I'm sending Bro a snapchat." Dave says.

"What's that?" John's Dad asks.

"Oh, you don't know what a snapchat is? Do you have an iPhone? I'll show you."

Four and a half hours later, John comes downstairs to find his Dad and Dave laughing and watching television together. There's something very surreal and deeply troubling about the image that makes him want to crawl back up to his room and hide forever, but he doesn't.

Instead, he accepts his fate, and joins them on the couch.

"John you need to eat some pancakes because we're going to go to Karkat's soon. He called me like twenty minutes ago and we need to stop at my house and get my instruments also fold up your portable electric keyboard." Dave says. John sighs and stands up.

"How soon should we leave?" John asks.

"I don't know." Dave says. "Whenever this show is over."

"So not that urgent then." John says.

"No trust me it is urgent but this show is more urgent." Dave says. "Eat the goddamn pancakes."

John eats the goddamn pancakes, then goes to his room and takes the foldout keyboard from under his bed. He lugs it down the stairs, slowly and painstakingly, as his father and boyfriend are sitting on their asses watching television. He sighs. The foldout keyboard isn't the only piano in the house, or else he probably wouldn't keep it under the piano. The one under his bed is just something he got to play around with when he was younger, it's the kind with all the voice settings. The Piano Of The House is a Story & Clark kept up against the wall by the couch. On top of it are several of those porcelain fancy santa figurines, the types people started making before coca-cola dyed christmas red and white. Which is funny, because Red and White are both Dave kinds of colors. Also, the color of blood on snow. Which really doesn't make for a good Christmas theme. But in any case, his mom used to like the fancy Santa figures. Apparently she had a whole anti-commercialism Christmas rant for whenever they were taken out. He can't imagine what his father and mother would have been like together as a couple. She must have totally overpowered him, her energy would have been above his head. He wishes he could have seen it.

People always say they're sorry when they hear about the death of John's mother. They say they're sorry to hear it. But he was young, very young, and he doesn't remember her face. He doesn't miss her, which sounds cruel, but how can someone miss something they never knew? Sometimes he wonders what it would be like to have a mom, to have been raised with one, but his dad did a fine job just by himself. That's what he thinks.

"Dave I have my piano are we going to Karkat's house or not." John says. Dave looks up at John, then back at the television, then back at John, and finally with a long, exaggerated sigh he stands up.

"Yep I guess we're going then." Dave says. He grabs one end of John's keyboard and then helps him load it into the car. Dave hands him his laptop before he starts driving. "Basically we need to have more songs to work on today so you can just write more lyrics. They can be pretty shitty, I don't actually care. Well, actually, I do care. Basically all I'm saying is we need lyrics so you can just. Do your thing."

"Seriously." John says.

"Yes." Dave says, and starts driving. John starts typing, and then looks up.

"Do you think Karkat can sing?" John asks.

"I have no fucking idea." Dave says.

"Do you think he'd be willing to sing?" John asks.

"Probably not." Dave says. There's another brief pause of contemplation. John taps the side of the computer.

"Do you think we could force him?" John asks.

"Fuck yeah." Dave says. John goes through the tracks and looks through the ones that still need lyrics. He listens to clips and pieces and then types some, and then listens to more and stays silent for a moment. Sometimes he'll re-listen to the same piece of the same track ten times in a row before he starts typing again.

"I have one song." John says. "Do you think that will be enough for today?"

"Hm." Dave says. "Yeah, probably. How about you keep working on that and I'll go inside and grab my stuff."

"Alright." John says.

He hasn't noticed the color of the sky yet on this morning, there was no sunset to draw his eyes upward like there was yesterday. But the sky is beautiful, it's dark and troubled and angry. He looks at his words, highlights them, and presses delete. One button, twenty minutes of progress. That's all it takes to destroy something. Of course, he puts it back just as easily by dragging his mouse over to the 'edit – undo' function and then boom– it's all back. It starts to rain then, little droplets at first. The kind of rain that you have to ask about, the kind where you're on vacation and you feel a wet prick on your wrist where your sleeve slides back too far, and then you ask yourself, 'is it raining?' And then it transforms, slowly, and by the time Dave's coming out to the car it's pouring, the kind of pouring that makes you want to announce it to everyone and makes you want to go outside because it's _so wet_. It's like nature giving you a shower, rain pouring and pouring like there's no tomorrow because tomorrow was dug up like worms and washed away with the loose mud. God, John loves rain. He really does. Well, that's not quite the whole story. He _likes_ rain, Rose is the one who loves rain. But John loves a good storm. He loves the way nature fights him as he walks down the street. He loves the wind. There's something beautiful about the wind of a storm. Not the tornado or hurricane winds, nor the winds that barely stir the wind-chimes. He likes the kind of wind that cradles and rocks the trees, that tussles branches and leaves. Dave has to get a big rain poncho to put all his stuff in. He doesn't get anything for himself, he just toughs it out even though it's John's shirt he's wearing now. That makes John remember that he's got Dave's shirt at his house.

"God I fucking hate weather." Dave says.

"All weather?" John asks.

"I like heat." Dave says. "I like lots of heat. But not this."

"You're just angry because you're wet." John says.

"Well, do _you_ like this kind of weather?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do." John says.

"Why?" Dave asks. "I mean it's so. Wet and cold."

"It's nice." John says. "If you can stay warm and observe it from a safe distance, it's nicer."

"Yes." Dave says. "I can agree with that."

He starts driving to Karkat's house. It's just that simple for them, because they have such a small school; there are only so many partners you can have for science and history projects, they end up learning everybody's addresses at one point or another.

Out of all of their houses, Karkat's is the most in the middle of nowhere. It's in one of the more flatland areas, just one house surrounded by a whole lot of grass. It's a nice house, of reasonable size and stature. The location is just amusing.

Dave knocks on the door and there's a lot of thumping coming from the other side before Karkat opens it.

"Come in." Karkat says.

"Fuck." Dave says.

"What?" Karkat asks.

"I forgot you have _cats_." Dave says.

Karkat does have cats. Karkat has like six cats. All of them sit on various surfaces, watching Dave as he sneezes one colossal sneeze and then starts bringing his stuff inside.

"What are they named?" John asks.

"Who?" Karkat asks.

"The cats." John says.

"Oh." Karkat says. "Do you actually want to meet them or are you just being a little shit."

"I would actually like to meet them." John says. "I used to have a cat, once."

"Oh really?" Dave asks, and sneezes again.

"Yes." John says. "His name was God. I don't know why."

"Well," Karkat says. "The really small golden one is Honey. The big black one is Mori. That fluffy light-blondish one is Tamaki. That weird one, the brownish calico thing, that one's Haruhi. The really thin and smaller black one is Kyoya. And the orange-ish Tabby is HiKauru."

"Most of those sound really Japanese." John says. Karkat gives him a look.

"No, they're fucking Spanish names."

"Are they using protection?" Dave asks.

"What was that, you little fucker?" Karkat asks.

"Nothing, nothing." Dave says. "I didn't say shit. Oh, except John's mine now."

"Why the fuck would I care if you and John are together or whatever." Karkat says. There might be a tiny blush there, but he turns away while he's saying it so John can't really tell. He's leading them to the basement. "I'm sure Nepeta would be happy to hear though, you should tell her. Not that I care that much."

"Why?" Dave asks.

"She ships you guys." Karkat says.

"What?" John asks. "For how long?"

"I don't know, like, a year or something." Karkat says. John and Dave exchange uncomfortable looks.

"Karkat, also, um, can you sing?" John asks.

"No." Karkat says.

"Well, _will_ you sing?" John asks. "If we ask you really nicely? And bribe you with things?"

"No." Karkat says.

"What if my lyrics really speak to you." John says. "What then. Then will you sing them?"

"By sing do you mean angrily make throaty noises that could be mistaken for words?" Karkat asks.

"Yes." John says. "Maybe. Probably."

"Alright, fine, whatever. I'm not even sure why I said yes to this whole fucking band thing." Karkat says.

"It's because we're friends and we're going to be so cool now that we have a band." John says. "We'll be the coolest kids in a school of less than eighty students."

Karkat sighs.

They assemble the piano and set up Dave's guitar.

Terezi is already waiting, sitting on an amp in the corner, stroking her guitar's neck in a kind of intimidating way.

"I hope you have sheet music." she says, giving Dave a look. A look that is full of I-dare-you and stuff.

"Oh yeah." Dave says. "I do." He opens up a file and prints copies from Karkat's printer which, conveniently, is next to the computer, in the corner of the basement not occupied by Terezi. All of the other corners are occupied by cats, who followed them down here.

They play a few songs. All in all, they're not bad. That is something someone would say if they were a supportive parent. The truth is, they suck. And they suck a lot. They suck so hard -that finishing that sentence would probably get them kicked out of school. But they get better. The truth is, none of them have ever really done stuff in a band before. Dave's played guitar by himself, Karkat has banged on drums, Terezi has stroked her bass intimidatingly, John has done piano and sung in the shower. But working in a band is a completely different thing, a completely different aesthetic. It's something they'll have to get used to, adjust themselves to, and build on. It actually only takes two hours before they're doing alright.

"Hey Dave." John says. "My band's playing over at the place tonight."

"You have a band?" Dave asks. They're referencing movies again.

"Yeah, we suck." John says. "Please come?"

"Karkat!" Dave says. "You need to say: We are Sex Bomb-Bob, and we're here to make music and stuff! And then tap your drumsticks against each other three times and we'll all start the song."

"Why." Karkat says. "Why should I do that."

"Because it's fucking awesome and you're an angry person." Dave says. "It's a movie reference."

"What movie is this." Karkat says. "What movie is this that I haven't seen but is totally awesome."

"Scott Pilgrim Versus The World." Dave says. "Do it. For _irony_."

"We are Sex Bomb-Bob, and we're here to make music and stuff." Karkat says in total apathy. He stares Dave deep in the soul as he taps his drumsticks together very hard, three times above his head. And then they go for it. Karkat sings the song John wrote for him, not just scream it or gargle it but actually kind of maybe sing it. Excerpt:

_"Nobody remembers what it was like_

_To be a teenager – I say nobody_

_Because the first thing they forget_

_Is that teenagers aren't people,_

_They're kids who fit into bigger clothes_

_And who have to start working_

_Because they're able to. _

_Well maybe teenagers don't_

_Want to have to learn how_

_To shoulder a grown-up kind_

_of Regret– it sucks._

_I never meant it when I said_

_I wanted to grow up, when I was young._

_I'm lying, but can I still take it back?"_

"Thank you San Diego!" Dave screams when they're done with the song. "Thank you, thank you!"

"What the fuck, Dave." Karkat says. "What the actual fuck."

"Can you hear them screaming?" Dave asks. "Those are our fans."

"No, I think those are the cats." Karkat says.

"Fuck, you might be right." Dave says, and sneezes. "Well in that case, thank you Ouran Host club, displeasure being here tonight!" HiKauru scratches at the felt side of one of the amps. Dave shoos him off.

"Can I have a song?" Terezi asks.

"Do you want one?" Dave asks. "John writes most lyrics. Actually, I haven't done shit so far so everything you've heard has been John."

"Yeah, I want a song." Terezi says. "Sounds good."

"Thanks." John says. Terezi scares him a little bit. He feels like if they were in a different universe or maybe just a different reality, she might kill him off for shits and giggles, especially if she knew he'd come back and she might be able to do it again. She's a little bit crazy, and not quite in that scene kid way that makes you want to punch yourself through the face. She's crazy and intimidating, which John dislikes. Dave seems to think she's cool, though.

It's weird, and it always feels kind of prejudiced of him, but he feels a little bit scared of the fact that she's colorblind, too. Not like he's scared of that in itself but that adds to his general anxiety. He had this nightmare once about it, which sounds at least twice as ridiculous as it is, but in his nightmare she was standing over him eating coleslaw and she accidentally stabbed him with her foot and he started bleeding but because of her colorblindness she didn't realize it was blood, she just thought it was coleslaw so she started scraping his wound open to try to wipe the coleslaw off. It was a really ridiculous dream and he and Terezi are kind of cool with each other but still, he doesn't like her as much as he should. Also, something that doesn't have _anything to do with that fact at all_ is the fact that he's always thought Dave likes her a little bit more than he should.

Which is essentially true. For a female, because it's weird thinking of these classmates of his who are turning eighteen left and right as men and women, she's pretty cool. Dave's attracted to both genders and both sexes equally, he's always been aware of that fact, but he's never had this kind of connection with a female before. It's not really anything, it's just Terezi's kind of cool and cool about things and Dave's all over that and it pretty much ends there. Actually that all sounds a bit awkward, and maybe it is. Dave likes John a lot, though. He lesbians him. But that does kind of make him feel vulnerable.

In any case, he's happy. He's happy where everything is and where everything's going. John is. Dave is. They have a band. Dave remembers he hasn't told the band name– or has he? Does Terezi know?

"By the way guys," Dave says, "We have the awesomest band name ever. And our first album name, all picked out. Can I get a drumroll, Karkat?"

"No."

"How about a yes?" Dave asks.

"Fuck no."

"We're called Land of Heat and Clockwork!" Dave says.

"That's a terrible name." Karkat says. He really is a grumpy but, John thinks.

"Our first album is called The Principality of Ghostland!" Dave says.

"That one's not so bad." Karkat says. "It sounds kind of cool, almost."

"Yup yup yup." John says. "Pretty great, I know right? Almost should have been our _band name_ instead, _right Dave_?"

"Congrats on your relationship." Terezi says. "Karkat told me. I'm fairly gleeful for you."

"Um. Thanks." John says. Wow, relationship talks make things awkward fast. Terezi cackles at his awkwardness. Why does she cackle? Who cackles? _Who even cackles_? Terezi. That's who. And it's kind of freaking him out. But she's a good bassist, so it's all cool.

"Hey, can I write a song?" Karkat asks.

"I thought I would do most of that but if you want to that's, that's fine." John says.

"I don't actually give a shit, we should ad-lib it." Karkat says. "Everybody just play random shit and if it sounds good– if it sounds good I'll have you arrested."

"That's not even a reasonable threat." John says.

"Yes it is. My dad's a cop." Karkat says. There's a pause as everyone remembers this.

"Oh right." John says.

Karkat basically screams Fuck a bunch of times as they play.

John and Karkat go upstairs and prepare food because nourishment is necessary for teenage boys to continue breathing and sweating and jacking off as they do. Downstairs, Dave fights temptation.

John discovers that Karkat only has bread in unsliced loafs, which requires him to slice the bread, which takes two or three shots because he really doesn't know what he's doing but also doesn't want to look like a tool in front of Karkat. Karkat is his friend, Karkat is a major fucking douche, and Karkat does not let John's inability to cut a slice of bread off of a loaf slide by. The resulting debacle ends with John smacking him across the cheek. And then there's the endeavor of finding the sandwich ingredients. But what types of sandwich will everyone want? Terezi will want a red jam sandwich, Karkat says. No peanut butter, just red jam. Karkat makes something with a lot of meat in it for himself, and John makes a peanut butter and jelly for himself.

"Is PB&J short for peanut butter and jelly or peanut butter and jam?" John asks.

"Jelly, I think, unless you're British. I don't fucking know. I don't fucking care." Karkat says.

"We should ask Dave what he wants." John asks.

"Or we could just make him something." Karkat says. "With lots and lots of mustard."

"Does he like mustard?" John asks.

"I don't know." Karkat says. "But seriously, fuck Dave."

"Come on, let's go ask him what he wants."

Downstairs, Terezi unhooks the bass strap from around her shoulders. She props the instrument against a wall and a cat hisses at it before nudging it curiously with its nose. Dave thinks that one's Tamaki. From what he'd observed, that cat was strange. Terezi walks over to where Dave's sitting and leans forward, putting her hand on his shoulder. She snakes it around his neck a little bit, and Dave holds his guitar up as a bit of a shield. A shield against what, though? Probably her breasts.

"What are you doing." Dave says. Not a question. So he's not _that _irritated.

"Testing your resolve." she says.

"Resolve." he says.

"About John."

"That literally happened, like, yesterday. You've had plenty of time to make a move." Dave says.

"Yes, but it's a lot more fun playing for a guy who's taken." she says. "You should take off your sunglasses."

"I don't think that's happening."

"I bet your eyes are delicious, red and juicy."

"That's frightening and you're colorblind." he says. She leans forward more and her breasts slip over the neck of Dave's guitar, pressing against his collarbone.

"How flattering." she says. "Say no."

"No." he says.

"That lacked conviction." she says.

"You're supposed to be happy for me and John." he says.

"I am, but if you're going gay I don't want to say I never got to try this–" she says, and cuts herself off by kissing him. His eyes shock open in surprise which, really, he must be super off his game to not have expected that, that was _super_ obvious. And unfortunately for John, he _wasn't_ gay, so he'd have to be lying to say that he tried to cut it off immediately. It would be the worst kind of lie, too. The obvious, poorly done lie. _I tried to cut it off but her tongue was already nestled somewhere in my throat and it was so warm and comfortable, like a little fuck-puppy, and I didn't want to kick it out so I let it stay a little longer_. Of course, that's when John steps down the final step and Dave turns his eyes but not his jaw. Through the space between the lens of his aviators and his cheekbone, a glimpse of wide-open surprised bright red eye is visible. Not to Karkat, just to John, and somewhere deep inside it registers that this betrayal is as intimate as Dave's eye color had become. Just as Dave pulls off of Terezi's tongue, half a moment too long after John steps his final step, John turned and grabs Karkat by the hair at the nape of his neck. Karkat doesn't resist too much, he doesn't want to actually hurt John or John's tongue so he keeps his sharp shark teeth out of the way. He understands what' going on here. John doesn't really. John is just being angry. He is being angry and grabbing Karkat and kissing him in a way that was totally opposite to Dave and Terezi's kiss as much as it was intended to be the same. This kiss could not be counted against him as betrayal, this kiss was done in the heat of anger, and this kiss was intended to be seen in the way that Dave and Terezi's was not.

John had never wanted a dramatic life. He'd never wanted to be bitchy and vengeful. All he'd wanted was to sit at home and watch bad movies and get fat off of popcorn with his boyfriend or girlfriend or whoever. At this moment, John decides that that person will not be Dave. When he finally pulls away from Karkat he gives a long angry look, an electric keyboard smash, and takes his sandwich up to Karkat's room where he locks himself amongst the movie posters.

Dave follows him like a cliché and waits outside Karkat's door, knocking every few moments and trying to talk to him through this barrier which some could say he erected himself and others could say erected because Terezi probably gave him a boner and some could say it was a slab of wood held to a frame by a few fragile bolts and that's where their relationship was, that's what they were pivoting around.

"Please." Dave says. "Please, let me apologize."

"I'm letting you apologize!" John says. "Go ahead and fucking apologize, see what good it does you! I bet she started it, huh? I mean, I know she did, but that doesn't mean you're innocent!"

"I'm not denying anything!" Dave says. "But– Alright, if I say It's Not What It Looked Like, you're going to laugh at me."

"Correct." John says.

"You know that I care about you, and I wouldn't do anything to hurt you–"

"But do I?" John asks. "Maybe we're starting off this relationship too fast."

"I don't think we are." Dave says. "I think I know you well and we've been best friends and see, look, I'm apologizing, at least that's something. I'm _trying _for you. I just– tell me what to do to fix this?"

"I understand that this probably isn't as big of a deal as I'm acting like it is but Jesus, Dave. I leave you alone for an hour and you become bffs with my dad. I leave you alone for twenty seconds and your tongue's down someone else's throat. What do I do with you?"

There's a pause.

"You could write me a song." Dave says. Seven minutes of silence later, John slips a piece of paper through the space at the bottom of the door.

_"Well I'm sorry I confused you for a dopple ganger of yourself. _

_Your eyes, your eyes– they've been sunken in lately_

_The flame is gone the sparks have turned_

_To ashes. _

_Can you feel yourself turn to stone as the molten melts out of_

_Your skull?_

_But still, But still, I'll never say I'm sorry_

_For what I did,_

_What did I do I didn't do shit_

_And that's what the root of our problem is_

_But I'll never apologize– I'm to strong for apologies_

_I've turned to stone."_

Dave flipped the paper over and wrote on the back.

_"His skin is made of paper snowflakes,_

_That's how special he is to me._

_I'm almost afraid to bring him out in the sun_

_Because he might start to flame._

_Nothing can convince me _

_That he isn't worth my time._

_His eyes are like the deep end of a pool,_

_I can see straight to the bottom and _

_That's how I know he loves me._

_His halo is the sunrise that brings me to life_

_In the mornings the memories of _

_His smile convinces my bones to creak._

_He's laughing now, I see him, _

_At how I play into all these cliches._

_It's a show of affection I'm giving him,_

_Just because I wouldn't need to do it anyways."_

He hears John snicker at the ultimate cheesiness. Karkat comes up the stairs.

"Will you two stop being so fucking hormonal and just kiss already?" Karkat says.

And that really is the end of that brief squabble. Dirk and Jake come back to Montana for their honeymoon, god knows why, and then they jet over to some island for a while which really is more like it. When they find out John and Dave are dating 'or whatever', Jake gives them both a manly bro hug and a bit of relationship advice and Dirk goes out for a 'supply run' from which he returns with two packages. John and Dave open them after their family leaves. In John's box, a vibrator with the attached note: "_striders are known for many things but having horse cocks is not on that list_" and in Dave's box, a cock ring with the attached note: "_stamina_".

"Why does he seem to think I'm the bottom?" John asks.

"Aren't you the bottom?" Dave asks. John proves to him later that he is _not_ the bottom by using both of their gifts on Dave and really, that fits in with some of Jake's relationship tips nicely, especially number three: _sharing_.

And they do share, they share a lot. They share more than just objects. They go on a brief and unintentional camping trip together, and they share the feint glow of the sun on their cheeks and the trees around them. They share the way their arm-hairs bristle in the cold as they strut into the glorious dance in their glorious drag and totally lose to Rose and Kanaya but it's fun anyway. They share the way the earth and their lives seem to wrap around them like a blanket and they're snuggling up under it. And there's another moment, later on, when Mr. Noir gets sick, and they share that too. They share so much.

What it really comes down to is sitting under this bridge they found, wrapped up in their individual blanket like sweaters and scarves, with Dave's car parked and his iPhone playing music safely on the bank as they fish cool looking rocks out of the thin, shallow, creek. Something comes on that John recognizes, and he asks over his shoulder, "What song is this?"

"That one you liked." Dave says. John starts humming along until the part where he remembers the words and then he sings softly. And then Dave tackles him to the ground and kisses him some more, because that's the kind of thing that's important in life. Kisses. Tackled, being tackled. Listening to songs while you look for cool rocks in the creek. And then finally they find all the cool rocks they need, and graft them together in a way, and they make the best stepping stone ever and drink beer they're not supposed to be drinking on a porch where they could get caught, watching the early sunset. Because really, that's everything that matters.


End file.
